


Sidekicks, Wild Cards, Deuteragonists

by Isntthatrightzach



Category: Daredevil (TV), Iron Fist (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Luke Cage (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Many mojitos, Poor Ward, Sidekicks Anonymous, just a club soda for Ward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-10-18 12:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10617033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isntthatrightzach/pseuds/Isntthatrightzach
Summary: Claire Temple forms a drinking posse of the most Over This superhero sidekicks and friends for some free therapy.





	1. Chapter 1

It started with a group text from one Claire Temple, which said simply - ‘Got some superhero bullshit to get off your chest? Me too! Got a booth at Talbots. Come for a drink.’

–

Foggy Nelson was about two blocks from home when he felt his phone buzz. He paused for less than a minute before turning right back round, and dropping Claire a cheerful ‘You bet’ in response. Of course, Foggy was the only one to actually bother messaging Claire back at all.

–

Colleen Wing didn’t get the message, but then, Claire didn’t really expect her to. Probably not great signal in K'un-Lun.

–

Karen Page was balancing her laptop bag, handbag, Trish Walker’s coat, her own coat, her office pass and her phone when Claire’s message arrived. 

Trish pulled the studio door shut behind them, still halfway through her first apology (about having kept Karen so late checking over quotes) when she launched into the second (about handing Karen her coat when she already had her hands full). 

“No, no it’s fine,” Karen said, before moments later dropping her phone. “Shit.”

Trish scooped it up and relieved Karen of her coat.

“You’ve got a message,” Trish said. She didn’t mean to read the text ‘superhero bullshit’ or the name of the sender, but she couldn’t help raising a brow as she handed over the phone.

“You know Claire Temple?” Trish asked.

Karen quickly swiped over the message and hurriedly pushed her phone into a pocket. 

“Do you?” She asked, hedging her bets.

“Kind of.” Trish crossed her arms. “So which one do you know? Luke? Daredevil?”

Trish wondered, _how had she read so many Karen Page articles about their friendly neighbourhood vigilantes and not put two and two together?_

–

Misty Knight was nursing her second overpriced drink of the night when she got the message, and as soon as she read it, she knew exactly who had pissed off Claire Temple that much.

She wondered what Luke had managed to do now, considering he was in prison, but she knew that tone alright.

She felt a pang of guilt for even considering leaving her spot at Harlem’s Paradise, but the longer she let the message sit there, open in front of her, the less guilty she felt.

If she was facing facts, Mariah Dillard wasn’t coming tonight, and she hadn’t seen Hernan in days.

Besides, she was already out drinking anyway. What did it matter where she was doing it?

-

The person who was probably most surprised to receive Claire’s message was Ward Meachum, who saw the word ‘drink’ and physically flinched.

He re-read the message a few times before he clocked who it was from. He’d forgotten that the nurse had insisted on taking his number before their excellently executed plan to get the evidence to clear Danny’s name.

His immediate thought was to simply ignore it, but as soon as he sat back in his chair, he remembered that it was nine in the evening and he was still in the office just to avoid being at home, alone, staring down the ugly reality of his life.

He sighed, and got to his feet. _I can be at a bar and not drink,_ he thought to himself. _I’m an adult._

–

Talbots was a dive, but it was also hidden away down an alley, and served criminally cheap cocktails by the pitcher, which meant it was always busy, and loud, and dimly lit to hide the ragged furniture and the wine stains on the floor. 

Claire both hated and loved it. 

Just as a couple of girls who had been making eyes at all of the empty seats around Claire started moving closer to start indiscreetly taking over the booth, Foggy arrived and slung his satchel onto a spare seat with a smile, pushing his long hair out of his eyes.

“Well I’m glad you’re actually here,” he said. “Otherwise I’m no way cool enough to be in this bar.”

Claire smiled and gave him a quick, relieved hug. She looked fresh off a long shift, her hair bundled up in a messy pony tail, and he could tell immediately her day had been as bad as his.

“Are you kidding? You’re the coolest lawyer I know.” 

Foggy winced.

“Well, firstly, not a wide field, and secondly, that felt like a burn. What did our mutual friend do now?” 

Claire shook her head.

“Not the superhero bullshit I was talking about, actually.” She laughed. 

He slipped into the booth besides her and shot the two girls a quick, smug grin. 

Claire was nursing what looked like a gin and tonic, but she had a curled, stained cocktails menu in one hand. Foggy quickly assessed this was a woman who was looking to get drunk.

“Not that I’m not happy you contacted me, but that definitely felt like a group message. Are we expecting to fill this booth?” Foggy asked. 

Claire tilted her head from side to side. 

“Well you’re the only one who has messaged me back so I don’t know, but maybe, we’ll see.” 

Foggy looked around the booth. There weren’t many booths in Talbots, but they were all that kind of retro, horseshoe deal, and way too much space for just the two of them.

“Know a lot of disgruntled friends of foolhardy vigilantes, Claire?”

She laughed.

“You have no idea.”

“Foggy?” A familiar voice caught Foggy’s ear as Karen Page arrived, still juggling a mountain of things, with another woman in tow who Foggy immediately recognised as Trish Walker, that Trish Walker, as in 'Trish Talk' Trish Walker, waving politely. 

–

By the time Ward arrived at the bar (Talbots – really?), the rest of the booth had opted for a pitcher of mojitos, and he very seriously considered turning round on his heels and leaving, but hesitated for just a moment too long – long enough for Claire to spot him and let out a cheerful “Ward! You came!”

She actually seemed pleased to see him, which confused him greatly. Then again, she also looked fairly drunk, and drunk people were easily pleased.

“Ward Meachum?” 

He’d met Karen Page once before, conducting an interview for the Bulletin, but she was a striking looking person, instantly recognisable. He was surprised to see her in the booth giving him a look that was probably about as bemused as his own. He recognised the blonde on her right, too, but couldn’t pin down where from. 

He quickly composed himself. _Too late to escape now._

“I’m as surprised as you are,” he replied. 

Claire was clambering skilfully over Foggy, and swung a hand out to steady herself on Ward’s arm. He looked a little alarmed, but caught her arm and helped her out of the booth. 

She gave him a wry look.

“What, you thought I’d leave you out of a superhero bullshit therapy night?”

“You barely know me.” He replied.

“Look happy! You made the cut.” She said, patting his arm with a big, bright grin.

He was about to ask what she meant by that when she cut him off with a “what are you drinking?”

He quickly shot a glance at the pitcher in Karen’s hand as she poured out glasses for the other two people in the booth, both of whom looked pretty familiar.

It actually hurt to reply, quietly, “just a club soda for me.”

Claire followed his glance and back and seemed to put two and two together. She looked a little embarrassed, but quickly covered that up.

“Sure. Coming up!” Then she took off through the crowd towards the bar. 

“Of course!” Foggy pointed a finger at Ward, a triumphant expression on his face, “Danny Rand!”

Ward took the seat beside him with a small sigh.

“What did he do now?” He asked.

“No, no,” Foggy shook his head, “that’s your superhero bullshit connection, Danny Rand.”

“Ooooh”, came the chorus from the two women across the table, drawing the dots.

Ward looked between all three of them, and regretted the decision to come here more and more with each passing second.

“I’m Foggy Nelson,” Foggy thrust out a hand, “I work with Jeri Hogarth, not on your account, but you know, with the firm.”

Ward took his hand and gave it a polite, business-like shake.

“This city is too small.” He replied flatly, but Foggy ignored that, moving on with the introductions.

“This is Karen Page, we used to work together but now she’s at the _Bulletin_ ,” Foggy said, spinning some extra reverence on to that last bit.

Karen interjected quickly - “actually we’ve met before” - “And this is Trish Walker, who you probably know from the radio. You know, Trish Talk, which I love, by the way.”

Trish offered him a little familiar wave.

“We’ve met before too, actually,” she chimed in, “I went to one of those galas you and your sister did years ago. Developments in immuno-oncology, I think?”

Ward couldn’t remember that at all, which troubled him.

Claire returned at that moment, and set his club soda in front of him.

“Way too small,” Ward said under his breath, and shuffled up in his seat to let Claire past.

“Tell me about it,” Claire said as she clambered past. “I can’t walk for all the vigilantes who keep showing up on my door half dead.”

–

Misty arrived last, the only one looking like she’d actually intended to come out drinking in a complete knock out of a gold dress paired with what were clearly a pair of back-up, practical shoes, and a fresh pitcher in one hand, the other resting on her hip.

“Now this is a weird group of people, Claire.” She greeted them with a smile.

“Oh come on,” Claire gestured to Misty’s dress, “that’s just unfair.”

\----

“Not a chance,” Claire rolled her eyes, “Luke has actual bullet proof skin. What’s Daredevil going to do? Guilt him into defeat?” 

Karen scoffed. Misty gave an enthusiastic nod.

“Right! And he hits like a damn tank, too,” Misty said. “It’d just be like...” she mimed a punch just bouncing off, ineffectually.

“Yeah, I mean Jess has super strength but she didn’t exactly hold up against Luke,” Trish jumped in between sips, “and she stopped a car once.” 

“But Daredevil is fast, and he’s trained,” Karen countered. “Jessica can’t, you know, fight.”

“No offense,” she quickly added to Trish, who shrugged.

“He’s still just a normal squishy guy though, right? He’s wearing body armour,” Trish replied. She knocked back the last of her mojito and winced. 

By now the table had two empty pitchers, a third well on its way, and a mountain of empty glasses. The bar staff of Talbots, apparently, not too committed to clearing the glasses. Probably a good thing as the concept of being discreet about their conversation topic had gone out of the window after the first pitcher. 

“Ah but Danny’s trained too, and he’s got the whole magic fist thing going, so maybe he stands a chance,” Claire interjected, just a little slur creeping into her voice, pointing her glass at Ward, “right?”

Ward, who hadn’t said three words since the conversation had inevitably turned to ‘my friend could beat up your friend’, just shrugged his shoulders with an ‘eh’ expression.

“You’re not even going to make an argument for him?” Foggy raised a brow beside him. “Dude, you’re a terrible sidekick.”

Ward raised a brow right back.

“Sidekick? Is that what we’re supposed to be?”

“Pretty sure we all are.” Foggy said, and was immediately met by a cry of discord from the rest of the booth. Misty threw a straw at him with an audible ‘boo!’.

“I am not Luke’s sidekick,” Claire pointed. “Or Danny’s. Or M-” she caught herself just before the name jumped out involuntarily, “anyone’s.”

“Ok, ok,” Foggy threw up his hands in faux defeat, “some of us are love interests.”

Claire’s jaw dropped in mock shock.

“Oh you didn’t just call me a ‘love interest’, Nelson.” 

Foggy gave her a broad grin in respone.

“Are you saying you’re not dating Luke Cage?” He shot back.

Claire, without a very good retort, scrunched up her face and leant back in her seat.

“Why does ‘love interest’ sound so much skeevier than girlfriend?” She said.

“Well I don’t fit into either of those categories,” Misty said, giving Claire a subtle sideways glance. 

“Me either,” Karen added. Foggy laughed.

“Well sure, but you were both of those things,” and then he pointed to Karen specifically, “besides, I didn’t say anything about Daredevil.”

Karen pulled a sceptical face in response, brushing some long hair out of her eyes. 

“I haven’t even seen him in months.” She said.

“Who, Daredevil or The Punisher?” Foggy pulled out his trump card. Karen’s face dropped.

Trish raised her brows but quickly averted her eyes.

“I thought he was dead?” Misty asked from the corner.

“Anyway,” Karen practically barked over Misty in her haste to change the subject, pointing across the table, “Ward here is hardly a ‘love interest’.” 

Ward gave her his best ‘politely offended’ smile in return, and Karen quickly backtracked.

“I mean, not a love interest for Danny specifically. You could be a love interest, I mean, I’m not making any kind of aspersions on your personal life. Sorry. That didn’t come out right.”

“No, no, I love a good conversational escape rope,” he said with a sly smile. “Well, I’m not a love interest, and I’m definitely not a sidekick. I’m a...”

He searched around for the right word and came up blank.

“I have no idea what I am,” he concluded.

“You’re more of a Wild Card.” Claire said.

Ward shrugged.

“Sure, I’m that.”

Trish considered pouring herself another glass, but stopped short, glancing over at Ward’s completely untouched club soda.

“You know, I’m good with the superhero thing, but I object to the fact that we’re having to define ourselves by our relationships to our … friends,” she said. “I mean, I’m Trish Walker, Ward runs a billion dollar company,” she gestured to Karen, “you’re a columnist for The Bulletin.”

She then pointed to Misty, Claire, and Foggy in turn.

“And you’re a kickass cop, and a mega Nurse, and a hot shot lawyer!”

She sighed.

“I’m just saying any one of us could be a protagonist, right? So maybe I’m not just Jessica’s sidekick. I’m her … deuteragonist.”

Ward clicked his finger at her with a sudden wolfish grin.

“Deuteragonist! That’s the word I was looking for.” He said. Trish laughed.

“ _Suuure_ you were.”

“Ok, but you can only be a deuteragonist if the thing you’re doing is equally as important as the thing the protagonist is doing,” Foggy reasoned, getting his lawyer on, “and I don’t think many of us can compete with defeating evil ninja cults or actual mind control.”

That gave the booth some food for thought.

After a moment, Karen cursed quietly under her breath.

“Dammit, I think I am Frank’s sidekick,” she concluded quietly, and immediately reached for the pitcher to pour herself another drink, irritated.

“Told you.” Foggy grinned, and turned his attention to the others, all still chewing over the question. “So, you still think you’re deuteragonists?”

Trish and Misty exchanged a glance in the corner, both still weighing up that question.

“Yup.” Ward replied, without hesitation.

“Said with confidence!” Foggy said, elbowing Ward’s arm a little harder than he’d intended, knocking a few strands of Ward’s perfectly pushed back hair out of place.

“Oh sure, the CEO gets to be a deuteragonist,” Misty rolled her eyes. The word seemed to be getting harder and harder for people to say every time someone did. 

Claire chewed that over.

“Well, to be fair, I mean, you did shoot your dad off the roof when he tried to kill Danny, so, sure. _Maybe_.”

“Exactly.” Ward said, and took a triumphant sip of his club soda before promptly remembering it was a club soda and immediately looking distinctly less smug about everything.

“Wait, you did what?” Misty blinked.

“Isn’t your father like, ... famously dead? A long time ago?” Trish supplied, looking incredibly confused.

It dawned on Ward exactly then that Claire had just blurted out probably the biggest secret of his life. Not for the first time that evening, he thought, _too late now._

“Oh he was dead,” Claire jumped in quickly to save Ward the trouble she’d just dropped him in, “but he got resurrected by a ninja death cult.”

“Your dad was a zombie?” Foggy asked. Ward looked around the table at all of the confused expressions save Claire, who was pulling an ‘oops?’ face, and rolled his eyes.

“Like that’s the weirdest thing that you’ve heard,” he said, “we’re all just glossing over the fact that Karen’s been hanging out with The Punisher?” He threw that conversational escape rope right back.

Karen just started knocking her glass back and gave Foggy a death glare.

“You’d think eventually you’d hit a point where this all stops sounding insane.” Misty said with a sigh.

Claire nodded in world weary agreement.

“Oh you do. Then it just starts being inconvenient, unbelievable crap that is your life.” She said.

“Very true.” Ward agreed. There was a pregnant pause.

“But we live in a world with The Hulk,” Trish cut through the silence suddenly, “and then I tell people there’s a guy who can control people’s minds and everyone thinks I’m insane. I mean, come on.”

“I think people only have capacity for so much madness at one time,” Foggy suggested. “Like sure, the Battle of New York happened right here, so we believe that happened and we make room for it, and that’s it.”

“If everyone knew what else was going on they’d probably go insane,” Misty said.

“It’s a wilful blindspot,” Ward said, staring down at his glass. “Otherwise you’re dealing with the weight of a whole secret, horrible world. I mean,” and he laughed a little, a sad sort of laugh, “I didn’t even believe Danny when he told me he was back from the dead.”

“Seriously?” Claire pulled a face.

“He was talking about being trained in kung fu by monks in another dimension,” Ward said, by means of an explanation.

“Which is of course a lot less believable than the ninja death cult that brought your father back to life,” Claire countered.

“Like I said. Wilful blindspot.” Ward replied, and then looked very suddenly pained, “oh god I just remembered I had him committed.”

“ _Teeerrrible_ sidekick,” Foggy chimed in.

“Wild Card.” Ward corrected quietly, head buried in his hands.

“Deuteragonist.” Foggy corrected his correction with a grin. 

“Can we circle back round to this Punisher thing? Like, Frank Castle’s really not dead?” Misty said, turning her focus on Karen, who was pouring her third glass in a row.

“No we cannot.” She said. 

\---

Trish slid in next to Ward, and pushed her empty glass away from her across the table. She hadn’t refilled now for several rounds, he hadn’t failed to notice. He hadn’t failed to notice anyone’s drinks, actually.

“Please tell me you’re not avoiding drinking out of pity for me,” he said, “that would be depressing.”

Trish rested back into the booth, taking in the two fairly heated one-on-ones going on across from herself and Ward, the odd ones out.

“But you knew for months,” Karen was jabbing a finger into Foggy’s chest. “ _Months. Foggy_.”

“It’s not my secret to tell!” Foggy was protesting back, slurring.

“-and then he says,” Misty shifted her demeanour, impersonating someone in particular, “haven’t you had enough, _miss_ Knight?”

Claire rolled her eyes.

“I hate that guy and his stupid fucking shades.” Claire spat.

Trish turned her attention back to Ward. “I’ve had plenty,” she said simply. “Besides, my friend’s… she’s in recovery too, so ...” she trailed off. “It was, is, her way of dealing with what she’s been through.”

Ward considered that.

“It’s certainly as good an excuse as any,” he replied.

“Is it yours, too?” Trish asked.

“One of them,” he said. “I’m guessing you have a more constructive way of handling it, though.”

Trish tugged at the sleeves of her shirt, pulling them over to obscure her reddened, calloused knuckles.

“We all have our ways of sticking it to the people that messed up our lives, yeah.” She said.

Ward half smiled at that.

“It can’t be fun being the sober one,” Trish said. “Especially when you’re going to remember a whole lot more of these conversations than the rest of us.”

She lightly nudged his arm.

“I don’t know you at all really, but I’m at least 65% sure that you’re a decent enough person not to blackmail us all with of this terrible knowledge.” She said, perhaps a bit tipsier than she was trying to sound.

“65%?” He laughed. “That’s specific.”

“Hey, it’ll be 60% if you’re not careful.” She replied.

He looked over the booth, and beyond it to the crowded, noisy, oblivious bar all around them. This place was far from where he’d chose to spend his time, but it was busy and importantly, noisy. They could’ve been shouting these secrets at the top of their lungs, and the rest of this place wouldn’t care, too wrapped up in their own Friday nights.

Then he looked back to Trish, who looked half asleep, one foot up on her seat and her hand looped about her knee. She might’ve been Trish Walker, but in that moment, she looked as weary as he felt. Just another person dealing with some superhero bullshit. With Danny gone, and Joy, well, wherever Joy was, it had just been him left grappling with the unexplainable.

“Your secrets are safe, don’t worry. Claire pretty much guaranteed that the moment she told you all about my zombie father,” he said. “Besides, its not like we’ve got a whole lot of people we can actually talk to about these things. I’m...” he hesitated. “It feels a bit less daunting like this.”

Trish nodded. 

“Yeah, I mean,” she gestured to the two oblivious conversations going on right besides them, “they have each other to share some of the madness with. It’s kind of nice to have some of that too.”

Ward gave a quiet ‘mmm’ of agreement. 

Trish checked her phone, and then let out a little curse under her breath.

“Well I’d better go,” she said with a sigh, “I’ve got to be up in … four hours or so.” 

Ward winced.

“Well that’s just cruel.”

She held out a hand towards him, expectantly. He gave her a puzzled look.

“Your phone, Ward, c’mon.”

Not for the first time, Ward handed over his phone to a near stranger without having a clue why he was doing so.

But Trish just quickly tapped in a few numbers, and hit dial – her own screen lighting up her hand.

“There,” she said with a smile. “Now you’ve got my number. If you wanted to talk sometime.” 

With that, she handed back his phone, and in one half-elegant manoeuvre, stood up in her seat, then stepped right on to the table and over to grab her coat and bag, thoroughly disrupting Misty and Claire, and Foggy and Karen’s, in-depth chats.

“Aww you’re leaving?” Foggy lamented.

“Early start!” Trish said as she slung her coat on. “But I’m totally serious, we should do this again. Sidekicks Anonymous, or whatever we want to call it. I’ll be there.”

She gave them a wave and took off into the crowd, ducking her head down as she went. 

Ward watched her go, then went to save her number on his phone as ‘Deuteragonist’.

“Wait,” Claire took stock of Ward’s demeanour as he did so. “Did we miss something?”

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written fic in years, but had to get this damn plot bunny to die somehow. 
> 
> Usual disclaimers apply. Feedback, criticism, anything welcome.


	2. Postcards, Polo Shirts, Punches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen has a bad day, Trish and Ward have coffee, and the Sidekicks Anonymous try out a non-drinking form of therapy.

Of course, with enough time, any series of group texts eventually just becomes a group chat. 

Foggy was the first to arrive this time, clocking off early and nabbing a booth before the after-work drinkers could sidle down and take all the best spots.

 _1 new message on ‘Sidekicks Anonymous Or Whatever’_.

Claire had already sent her ‘I’m going to be late message’, which mostly consisted of a screwed-up face emoji and several face mask emojis. He wouldn’t have picked out level headed Claire for being the type to use so many, but really, he blamed Trish and her insistent, constant overuse of emojis and hashtags, which had clearly set the tone.

Well, that, and Ward’s sole contributions to the group chat tended to be single, exasperated emojis, which wasn’t too dissimilar to his sole contributions to their actual in person conversations, to be fair.

Foggy was about to respond in kind when Karen arrived, and with a furious flourish, dropped into the booth beside him.

He didn’t even need to ask if something was wrong as she let out a low, actual growl, and fished something out of her purse, which she practically slammed down on the table in front of him.

“So you’re having a bad day.” Foggy greeted.

It was a postcard.

Foggy gave her a questioning look. She flipped it over. Nothing – completely blank.

“I don’t get it.” Foggy said bluntly.

She turned it back over and pointed to the front, apparently too angry to form the words.

“… something about Brooklyn?” Foggy guessed.

“It’s Frank.” Karen said.

Foggy hesitated.

“You know that from a blank postcard?”

She scrabbled about in her bag, before producing a folded pile of papers – newspaper scrappings – which she then laid out on the table. ‘Brooklyn Gang Leader Found Dead’, the first said. Foggy didn’t even need to read the others to get the message.

“So Frank’s … what? Reminding you he’s alive?” Foggy said.

Karen sighed, pushing her hair back from her face. She looked equally furious and exhausted.

“This is the fourth one, Foggy. He has sent me _four_.” She said. 

Foggy frowned.

“Look, I know you said there was nothing going on,” he said, immediately eliciting a frustrated sigh, “but Karen. If you’re right, this is pretty...” he trailed off, “I mean, it’s almost romantic.”

“Romantic?” she muttered under her breath as she gathered up the papers, and the postcard, and quickly hid them away.

“Karen. Frank Castle is sending you _postcards_ ,” Foggy said. “Why would he do that?”

Karen brought her fingers to her lips, biting at her fingertips, something Foggy has seen her do a number of times when she was anxious or deep in thought.

“I don’t know. I guess you were right, he’s … I think he’s telling me he’s ok.”

“That kind of makes sense?” 

“The last thing I said to him was that he was dead to me, Foggy.” Karen said flatly.

Foggy nodded.

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean you’re dead to him,” Foggy said. “I mean, lets face it Karen, your … whatever it is you two are, that’s pretty much all he has, right?”

“I’m starting to feel like you want it to be romantic, Foggy. You remember who we’re talking about, right?” She gave him an accusatory look.

Foggy threw up a hand. She was getting defensive. He lowered his voice, for once trying to be mindful they were in public, and it wasn’t quite _that_ busy yet. They hadn’t even turned up the terrible music in Talbots to ‘distractingly loud’ yet.

“I don’t _want_ it to be anything, Karen, I’m just trying to help you understand what it _is_ , because you’re my friend.”

Karen buried her face in her hands again, and for a long moment, Foggy just let her.

He carefully reached out, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, Karen,” he coaxed gently. “This isn’t a trap, I know I’ve made jokes, but I’m not trying to make any judgements. That’s the whole point of this Sidekicks Anonymous thing. Having people to actually talk to about this stuff.”

After a moment, Karen pulled back, still covering her mouth, but he could see her eyes were welling with tears.

“He saved my life, again,” she started quietly, “but what he really wanted was to end it. To kill the Blacksmith.”

She took a breath.

“I begged him not to. I told him that if he did that, he was exactly the monster they said he was. I told him if he did that he was dead to me. And he told me he was dead already, and he killed him.”

Foggy had never heard this story before. He did his best to mask his quietly horrified expression.

“It destroyed me,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, “and I couldn’t even explain why. I hated him…. but then I saw him on the roof. Firing shots to help Matt, and ...”

She closed her eyes, the tears that had been building rolling down her cheeks.

“I was relieved, Foggy.” She said. “I said he was dead to me but I couldn’t mean it. Something wont let me.”

Foggy pulled her into a hug, tugging her into his chest. 

“Am I insane? I feel like I’m insane. I can’t feel this way about him.”

Foggy sighed.

“I think our bar for insane has gone out of the window, Karen.” He replied, rubbing her arm.

She let out a little, teary laugh.

“Should I try to find him?” She asked.

Foggy straightened suddenly, pulling her up out of his arms to grab her shoulders.

“Noooooo,” he emphasised, squeezing her shoulders. The, again, to make sure she heard him. “Nooooooooooooo.”

“That _would_ be insane.” She replied, eyes still full of tears.

Foggy nodded.

“Certifiably.”

“Well you two look like you could do with a drink,” Misty’s familiar voice interrupted. 

Karen wiped at her eyes quickly with her sleeves, hiding her face for a second, and Foggy grinned up at Misty.

“Perfect timing, Miss Knight! First round on you?” 

Misty gave a quick glance to Karen.

“You ok?” She asked gently. Karen nodded, pushing her hair behind her ears and composing herself a little.

“Just a heavy day. I’m fine.”

Misty looked a little sceptical, but accepted it.

“Glad to hear it,” she said, “because I ordered a round of shots to start.”

Foggy and Karen both pulled a face.

“Oh that’s how we’re playing it?” Foggy said.

“That’s how we’re playing it,” Misty said, sliding into the booth across from them and shedding her blazer.

–-

“I even thought of you, Ward,” Misty smiled wryly as the man in question rolled up to the booth, and she handed him a shot of espresso.

“Oh,” Ward took it readily, “inventive.”

“Wouldn’t want to leave you out,” Misty shuffled up to let him sit.

“Ward,” Foggy greeted him with a stern expression. “Did you take a day off?” 

Ward looked confused. Foggy gestured to his attire, which was for once, not a suit and waistcoat, but a dark polo shirt and chinos.

Ward glanced down and back to Foggy.

“I don’t just wake up in a suit, Nelson,” he replied, and took a sip of his espresso.

It made for an odd contrast, as for once, everyone else in the booth was in their workwear – rather than Ward sticking out like a sore thumb like he usually did in his waistcoats and pocket squares. 

“I’m just incredibly envious that _that_ is what you look like when you’re dressed down.” Foggy replied.

“I don’t know how to take that.” Ward replied.

“It’s a good look for you,” Misty said. Ward looked between her, and Foggy, and a now giggling Karen, then back.

“Ok, how many shots have you guys had already?” He asked.

“A few.” Karen replied.

“Claire’s running late so she’ll have to catch up,” Foggy said, pointing to the line of five shots waiting at the empty space at the head of the booth they had all silently agreed was always Claire’s.

“Trish too,” Misty pointed to the cluster still on the tray in the middle of the table.

Ward raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not drinking that much coffee. Just so you know.” 

“Oh God,” Trish arrived and threw her coat down, taking a sombre look at the shot glasses. “Who’s fault is this?”

All three pointed to Misty, who was looking pretty proud of herself by this point. It went unspoken that Misty had had a bad day, and had committed firmly to handling it in the medium of shots.

Trish gave a little resigned sigh. 

“Guess I’d better get started, then,” she said, and gestured for Ward to scoot up.

She took the seat beside him, giving him a quick once over as she did.

“Well hey, Casual Ward,” she said with a grin.

Ward rolled his eyes, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I really don’t feel like you people know me well enough to treat this as that unusual,” Ward said.

Trish nudged his arm a little.

“I like it,” she said simply, then before that compliment could linger too long, braced herself, and grabbed the first shot. 

“God is this vodka?” She pulled a face, eyeing the clear liquid. 

“You bet. And some other things. Misty’s keeping us on our toes.” Foggy said.

Trish glanced over to the espresso in Ward’s hand enviously.

“Don’t you dare act jealous of my ongoing rehabilitation,” Ward said. 

She knocked the first shot back and let out a disgusted ‘ick’ immediately. 

“Tequila? You trying to kill us, Knight?”

Misty laughed.

“A lesson in situational awareness,” Misty said. “You just drink anything people put in front of you? I thought you were supposed to be the paranoid one.”

“I hate tequila.” Karen said sadly, reaching for another shot.

“Let’s slow down a little,” Misty jumped in quickly, reaching forward and pulling the tray away from Karen. “At least give Patsy a chance to catch up.”

“Ugh,” Trish grumbled, “that hurt worse than the shot, Misty.”

“At least you have a good nickname,” Karen said. “You ever tried to shorten Karen? You just get Kare. It’s terrible.”

“It could be Foggy,” Foggy interjected.

“Or Misty,” Misty jumped in, “or Mercedes, which is my actual name, by the way.”

“That’s the winner,” Ward agreed.

“Is Ward short for Edward?” Trish asked, delaying her second shot. Ward blinked.

“What? People shorten Edward into Ward?” He stared.

She shrugged.

“People do lots of things.” She said, then quickly deflected, gesturing back to the shot glasses. “You don’t really expect me to drink all of these right?”

Misty laughed.

“Lightweight like you? Not really. Claire maybe.” She said.

Trish narrowed her eyes at Misty, who gave her a challenging grin back, then reached for another shot. Ward scoffed under his breath.

“Way to fall for the bait,” he said.

–-

“I feel like I used to have a gauge of what constituted a bad night in this city,” Claire said as she carefully lined up her shots. “But then people started putting on spandex and developing super powers and I end up feeling like I haven’t sat down in three weeks.”

“You’re free now?” Foggy said brightly, ever the fan of a silver lining.

“Yes,” Claire nodded. “Yes I am, with you fine people and this incredibly healthy way of dealing with our stress.” She gestured to the shots that sat in front of her, expectantly.

“Must be tough,” Ward said dryly, on his second espresso of the night. 

“I’m not complaining,” Claire said, “but as a nurse I feel obligated to start worrying about our livers.”

“Hey, you started this,” Misty reminded her. “No playing the Nurse card to weasel out of it now.”

Claire gave a ‘touché’ shrug, and prepared herself for shot number one.

“We should do other things, though, not drinking things,” Trish suggested, avoiding specifically making eye contact with Ward, “...we could go sailing.”

“Sailing?” Misty raised an eyebrow. “Ok. No more shots for you.” She reached for the tray at the centre of the table and pushed it towards Claire instead.

“I think Trish has a point,” Foggy piped up. “Not that we should go sailing, but if we keep coming back to the same bar every two weeks eventually someone is going to recognise one of us.” Then he gestured to Trish and Ward. “Well more likely one of them.”

Trish looked pleased to be getting some back up.

“Exactly! We’re forming a pattern. A semi-unhealthy pattern.” She said.

Misty sighed.

“Alright I hate to admit it but, yeah,” She turned an empty shot gloss over in her fingers. “All it’s going to take is an _interested party_ rolling up here and you’ve basically got a list of who’s-who to New York’s vigilantes. I mean, it’s going to take them about ten minutes to work out Daredevil is Matt Murdock, to start with.”

Claire, Foggy and Karen all immediately and simultaneously let out a cluster of protests. 

“Oh you think I didn’t work that out weeks ago?” Misty raised a sharp brow and gestured to Foggy and Karen.

“The connecting point between the two of you and Frank Castle? Look. The secrets of Sidekicks Anonymous stay anonymous, I agreed to that, but I’m still a _detective_ , guys. I _googled_ that crap.”

Karen and Foggy shared a concerned look. Claire shrugged.

“Hey, I didn’t say anything.” Claire said, moving on to shot number two.

Misty held up a hand.

“Don’t look so worried, I told you. This stuff stays here,” she gestured to the table, indicating their safe space, “you can have Foggy write up an NDA if you don’t trust me.”

“We should probably all sign one of those really,” Foggy said. “Just saying.”

There was a pause.

“Now that you’ve confirmed my theory I do have to ask about the blindness, though.” Misty said after a moment.

“He’s really blind.” Foggy replied.

“Seriously?” Misty raised a brow. “That’s… that’s impressive.” 

“Yeah.” Claire and Karen both chorused at the same time, with exactly the same tone of bittersweet admiration. 

Foggy let out a familiar, weary sigh, all too familiar with Matt Murdock’s effect on women. 

Trish had been pushing about an untouched shot glass between her fingers throughout much of this conversation, with one eye on Ward’s espresso. It hadn’t gone unnoticed, and Ward gently slid the cup over to her.

“I think you’re safe,” he said, as the conversation besides them launched into ‘but how is that even possible?’ 

Trish shot him a smile and gratefully scooped up the espresso, taking a quick sip. 

“I’ve been up since four thirty.” She said, excusing herself.

“Five past five,” he replied sympathetically, and then, after a moment. “Do you actually go sailing?” 

“I _have_ sailed,” Trish said. “I wouldn’t say I go sailing. I don’t know, I was just … spit-balling. I couldn’t think of anything.”

“What do sober people even _do_?” Ward replied with a little wry smile.

She rolled her eyes a little.

“I appreciated the effort,” he added quietly, just in case anyone overheard him saying something sincere. 

She gave a nonchalant shrug, averting her gaze.

“Well, it’s not all on your behalf, it’s not like I can keep up with this pace,” she said, but then fixed him with a little disarming smile as she handed him back the cup. “You’re welcome.”

Ward was struck with a sudden urge to reach over and brush her hair, that had fallen into her face, back behind her ear. He immediately buried that thought back down. 

Claire suddenly sat up in her chair, slamming her hands down on the table, setting the tray of remaining shots shaking, and spirits spilling onto the table. She had a bright, wide grin on her face.

“I think I have a great idea for a non-drinking activity, guys,” she said.

\---

 

Perhaps inevitably, Sidekicks Anonymous found themselves in the Chikara Dojo, lined up in front of Colleen Wing, ready to learn some self defence.

“I can’t believe we actually committed to this plan,” Claire said, shifting her weight from one foot to another. “We never commit to any of the stupid plans we come up with when we’re drunk.” 

“You set up a group alert, Claire,” Foggy reminded her. 

They were one short, though, in that Ward hadn’t yet arrived.

Colleen was seated in front of them, seemingly meditating, which was causing Foggy no end of discomfort. It was bad enough he was here in sweats between four women who looked so much more at home in their active wear than he did, but they were just stood there awkwardly, with Colleen silently meditating in front of them.

Trish was stretching out her arms, clearly itching for a fight, and Foggy cleared his throat.

“She’s gonna stop Trish from going all Krav Maga on us, right?” He whispered to Claire.

Ward appeared at the door, suit bag slung over one shoulder, in a tee-shirt and sweats, usually prim hair lightly ruffled, probably from the quick change around.

Foggy gave him a look over and let out an audible “oh come on” under his breath, which made Claire giggle.

“Sorry I’m late,” Ward took stock of the room and apologised quickly, before hastily depositing his things and moving to join the line-up. Colleen’s eyes sprung open at his arrival, and she quickly got to her feet, intercepting Ward to catch his arm and give him a familiar smile.

“Glad you made it, Ward,” she said. To her seeming surprise, Ward, on auto-pilot, leaned in to to give her a brisk handshake and kiss on the cheek – like you would a business acquaintance.

“Good to see you again, Miss Wing,” he said.

She recovered quickly from the surprise kiss on the cheek and straightened up as Ward moved past and slid into the line next to Foggy.

Colleen then addressed the group, her eyes tracing over the line.

“Well, first of all, welcome,” she said. “How about we start by assessing what you already know, before we move on to what I can teach you?”

Colleen instructed them to pair up. Claire automatically hooked Misty’s arm, and Karen, who looked distinctly less confident about this whole situation than Trish did, quickly gravitated to Foggy.

Trish automatically stepped in place next to Ward. Ward, head still half in his own world, turned to her and then took in her confident stance, her bright smile, and of course, her outfit, and did his best not to be too obvious about noticing it.

But before she could say anything, Ward felt a hand on his shoulder – Foggy.

“Oh no,” Foggy interrupted, “fighting leads to flirting, and the two of you are far too rich and single to be left alone together. I’ll take Ward.” 

Ward and Trish shot each other a quick glance, both suddenly aware of a connotation in the air that hadn’t been there just a few short seconds before, and Ward cleared his throat.

“Very progressive of us,” he said, joining Foggy.

Karen did her best to smile bravely, and fixed her ponytail a little tighter.

“Don’t kill me please.” She moved over to Trish.

Misty dodged out of the way of Claire’s first two swings, and with little hesitation, ducked underneath her to hook her arms about Claire’s waist and haul her off her feet. 

Claire ended up on her back in a matter of seconds.

Colleen raised her brows in surprise, having expected her student to last a little longer than that, but impressed by the other woman’s quick thinking. Misty offered Claire a hand up from the floor, and Claire rolled her eyes.

“Ok you get the first round,” Claire said as Misty pulled her up.

“Think fast, Claire,” Colleen interjected, “she’s leaving herself exposed to incapacitate you. You’ve got to anticipate that.” 

“Right,” Misty agreed. “I’m a cop- my first instinct will always be disarm, and the quickest way to disarm you is to get you off your feet.” 

Colleen nodded.

“Exactly.”

Claire looked between the two of them, both looking back at her with the exact same expression of understanding.

“Soo, this is my friend Misty Knight,” she said. “Misty, Colleen Wing, Colleen, Misty.”

 

Meanwhile, Foggy was swinging somewhat ineffectually at Ward, who was dodging back out of the way without much trouble.

“Can I just say how completely unfair it is that you look that good in sweats, Ward? Because it is.” Foggy threw out.

“If this is an attempt to distract me Nelson, it is failing miserably,” Ward replied. 

“Dammit.” Foggy said, before throwing up his hands. “Ok so when do I get to admit that I know absolutely nothing about any of this?” 

Ward took the opportunity to quickly spring forward for a shoulder shove, knocking Foggy back a few steps. 

 

A few steps away, they heard a loud, angry cry, and looked over to see Trish had, in a matter of seconds, trapped Karen into a particularly serious looking head-hold.

“ _Can I switch please?!_ ” Karen yelped. Trish, grinning, released her.

Colleen quickly stepped over, holding up her hands.

“Ok, let’s switch things up,” she said.

 

This time, she paired them up by ‘experience’, she explained, which left Foggy and Karen standing together, Ward and Trish as a pair, and Claire and Misty still paired at the far end.

Ward took stock of this new line-up with a dubious expression.

“I think you are _massively_ overestimating me here,” he pointed out uneasily.

“Testing something else, Ward,” Colleen said, before herself joining Claire and Misty.

 

Karen was rubbing her neck, glaring holes at Trish. Foggy patted her arm gently.

“It’s ok, we can admit we’re out of our league, here,” he said. 

“Like you’re going to be able to punch your way out of a gunfight,” Karen replied, bitterly.

 

Colleen fell in step besides Claire.

“Ok, let’s test that situational awareness,” she said, before quickly lunging forward towards Misty.

Claire hesitated for a second, before Colleen barked out “Claire!”, moving her to action.

Misty quickly dipped down, clear of Colleen’s opening kick, but not fast enough to avoid the one that followed it, knocking her back a few steps. Claire took the opportunity to swing a blow right at her shoulder, but Misty recovered just fast enough to intercept.

“Oh, you think I can’t kick both of your asses?” Misty balked.

 

Ward found himself clearing his throat again as he took in Trish’s fighting stance. She flashed him a big grin.

“No place for chivalry, here, Meachum.” She said.

“Oh trust me,” he raised his fists defensively, “my hesitation has absolutely nothing to do with your being a woman.”

She took a few practice swings at him, which he blocked, before aiming a kick square at his chest.

Purely driven by instinct he jumped back and caught her foot, and after a second of surprise he’d actually successfully done so, threw it to his left side, sending her careening forward and into him.

Thrown off her footing, she slammed into his side, leaving herself exposed, and he quickly hooked his arm around her ribs, spinning them both round, and with absolutely no elegance whatsoever, sent them both crashing into the floor.

Trish was thrown off for only a moment, though, and pushed herself back off the ground as quickly as possible before launching herself over him, knee into his shoulder socket, pinning him into the mat.

“Not bad,” she said. Ward let out a little grunt of pain as she put some weight onto her knee.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Ward said.

She eased back on her knee, settling for instead simply sitting on his chest to incapacitate him. 

Ward made no attempt to get back up, which had nothing to do with the fact that he was currently pinned to the ground by a beautiful, terrifying woman.

She flicked a few dark strands of his hair out of his face.

“Well, at least you tried,” she teased. Ward let out a little laugh.

“Story of my life.” He replied.

A few feet away, they were interrupted by Foggy’s unsubtle coughing.

They glanced over to find the rest of the room watching them – Misty half-heartedly holding Claire in a headlock, Karen with her brows raised, and Colleen with her arms folded, looking quietly vindicated.

“Oh no,” Colleen gestured, “please, carry on. You’ll definitely win a fight this way.” 

–-

“I don’t know how you gathered this group together,” Colleen said to Claire as she watched them gather up their things, ready to head back to their respective lives, “but I think whatever your doing, its working.”

“Best therapy I don’t have to pay for,” Claire smiled. “Hey, you’re welcome to join us any time, you know that right?”

Colleen nodded.

“I might just do that.”

Misty, slinging her bag over her shoulder, approached.

“Actually I was going to ask if you’d consider taking on another student,” she said. “I could do with having a few more moves, keep up with the evolving threat, if you know what I mean.”

Colleen did her best not to look too relieved – aside from Claire, she didn’t have much in the way of clients any more, which was fine when she was going to K’un-Lun, but now…

“Of course,” Colleen nodded, “I’d be happy to, Misty.”

“Maybe we don’t invite Trish, though,” Claire said quietly, eyeing the blonde across the room, “that Krav Maga is...”

“Different.” Colleen supplied, tactfully.

Ward hovered over.

“Claire, Detective,” he nodded to the pair, and turned his attention to Colleen.

“Thank you Miss Wing,” he paused. “Say hey to Danny for me?” Ward said. She nodded a little. 

“If I see him before you do,” she said. Ward gave her a brief, almost sad smile, before heading for the door.

–-

Ward was a few steps from his car when he heard someone calling his name.

Trish was hot on his heels, sunglasses on, hood up.

“Back to the office?” She asked.

“Where else?” he replied, not oblivious to her lingering. She hesitated, clearly battling over what she was going to say next.

“You want to go get a coffee instead?” 

–-

“I like the ‘incognito’ look,” Ward said as he handed her her cup and took a seat. They’d found a small, discreet sort of cafe nearby, not particularly fancy, but with only a few customers inside, so they could sit out in the courtyard pretty much undisturbed.

He had to admit he was grateful not to have to explain the need for discretion to Trish, who probably had to think about it far more than he did.

“Thanks,” she smiled, “you should try it sometime.”

Ward laughed, pushing back some of his now thoroughly dishevelled hair.

“According to you guys I’m practically unrecognisable the moment I stop wearing a suit, so this probably _is_ my incognito look,” he said.

“Good point.” She sipped, and winced.

“That bad, huh?” He asked, eyeing his own coffee.

“Strong.” She replied. He stretched his shoulder a little, trying to iron out the dull ache that had started to set in.

“Sorry about that.” She said, watching him do so.

“So I guess now I know your constructive way of dealing with things,” Ward said. “I’ve got to admit, it’s much, much better than mine. You fight back, I run away.”

Trish shuffled in her seat a little, uncomfortable.

“You stopped running, though.” She said, and reached for her coffee again.

Ward tapped his finger against the edge of his cup.

“And your friend, she stopped running too? Started fighting?”

Trish nodded.

“You know,” he hesitated, not sure how to phrase what he wanted to say. “I appreciate you doing it, but, you don’t have to help me because I remind you of her.” This was going terribly.

_You don’t have to be nice to me just because I’m an addict and your best friend is too. It doesn’t make you a bad person if you just care about her._

He could see Trish’s brow raise behind her glasses. She didn’t say anything for a moment, and he regretted opening his mouth at all.

“Wow,” Trish said. “I mean, I haven’t exactly _pursued_ a guy in a while, but I didn’t think I was _that_ out of practice.” She said.

Ward wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

He winced, quickly averting his gaze with a quiet ‘shit’ under his breath.

“I’m sorry Trish, I’m an asshole,” he said. “I didn’t…”

She said nothing, just kept her brows arched, inviting him to keep digging.

“It’s just, you’re accomplished, and decent, and beautiful,” he started, “and I’m...” he tried to think of a slightly better word than ‘a trainwreck’ “… still working on even half of that.”

Trish slid her glasses down her nose, fixing him in her sights.

“Relax, Ward,” she said. “It’s not a big deal, I’m not looking for anything. I think you’re cute, and honest, and I like talking to you. Is that ok?” 

Ward smiled. A genuine, surprised, bright sort of smile she hadn’t seen from him even once since they’d met. It was downright _sweet_.

“Yeah – yes. That’s ok.” He said after a moment. 

Then after a pause.

“In the interests of honesty, though,” he said. “I don’t have a clue how to do this.” He gestured lightly between the two of them, referring to whatever it was they were doing.

“Oh come on,” Trish replied, “you’re a thirty-year-old billionaire chief executive, Ward.”

Ward shook his head.

“Not even close to a billionaire,” he countered, “and I also had more then ten years of looking after my undead father. Can’t exactly get close to someone when they could get killed just for finding out why you’re always blowing them off.”

Trish didn’t have a response for that, and just sat back in her seat a little.

“… and I’m already scaring you away,” Ward sighed. “I told you. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Admittedly, Trish was starting to recognise she’d only really had a small window into Ward’s life until now, and she wasn’t keen on what she saw there, but she couldn’t deny a sense of familiarity about it. It’s not like the window into her own past painted a pretty picture.

“Well, it’s not exactly the same, but I do know about not getting close to people,” Trish said, her mind suddenly filling with memories of her mother, and of Will Simpson, which she quickly stuffed back away behind a door.

Ward didn’t say anything, just waited patiently for her to elaborate, if she wanted to.

Trish crossed and uncrossed her legs, suddenly physically uncomfortable at just thinking about it again. She was good enough at putting the things that had happened to her at arms length, but she couldn’t stop that visceral part of her that still roiled back against it.

Maybe she could just give him the annotated notes. That seemed safer.

“There was a guy … the last guy I was involved with,” she started hesitantly, “he was a victim of Kilgrave, and that’s how he got close to me. I thought he was a better person than he was but … Jessica was right. He wasn’t, even before he tried to kill us.”

Ward nearly spat out his coffee.

“He tried to kill you?” He stared.

Trish nodded.

“He was after Jessica,” she said, “so I had to do something.” She swallowed, unconsciously tightening her fist, her knuckles still thrumming just a little from the Dojo.

Ward watched her quietly, but said nothing. 

“The truth was I should’ve seen the kind of person he was long before it got to that point, the warning signs, Jessica did,” Trish said. 

“… but by the time you do, you’re too vulnerable already,” Ward said, staring at his own hands.

“You’re already in another trap.” She said quietly.

They let that sit between them for a moment in silence, a glaring, huge unspoken recognition of shared experience neither of them wanted to relive.

Trish didn’t want this to be what defined her. She didn’t even want it to be what defined this conversation, however relieving it was to have someone just listen, and recognise, what she was saying.

So instead, she leant across the table, hooking a hand under Ward’s chin and bringing his gaze back to her. He started to speak, but she cut him off by leaning in and pressing a kiss to his parted lips.

After a moment, he reached up, his fingers tentatively resting on her cheek, and kissed her back.

She pulled away, appreciating his stunned expression, his undone appearance, and smiled at him.

“Thanks for the coffee, Ward.” She said, then got to her feet, walking away whilst she could still taste the coffee, and salt, on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist a follow up, ended up being a bit longer than I expected.
> 
> Feedback, criticism, anything welcome.


	3. Private Eyes, Popcorn, Paint Jobs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica gets on the case, Trish and Ward address the elephant in the room, and the Sidekicks Anonymous have a movie night.

Trish’s phone was buzzing away on the table. Jessica, who was flipping idly through the pages of an old copy of the Bulletin, glanced over.

On the screen the name ‘Wild Card’ was flashing up. 

Jessica could still hear the shower running, and considered, for a moment, just letting the call ring off.

Then again, she didn’t know who ‘Wild Card’ was.

Jessica scooped up the phone.

“Trish Walker’s phone.” She greeted, flicking through a few more pages. _Dillard’s regeneration plans blocked_ , Jessica skimmed over the headlines, _Kittens saved from horrifying house fire_.

After a pause, a low, male voice spoke up.

“...Who’s this?” It asked.

“That depends, who’s this?” Jessica countered.

There was a little laugh.

“Is Trish around?” He asked.

“She’s in the shower,” Jessica replied, “did you know you’re on her phone as ‘Wild Card’? What’s that about?” 

Another laugh, this one a little heartier.

“Am I now? Interesting.”

Jessica, now far more interested in the phone call than the paper, threw the copy of the Bulletin to one side. 

“So… who am I talking to? Because, and I’m just going out on a limb here, but I’m pretty sure that ‘Wild Card’ isn’t your real name.”

“Very sharp of you,” he replied, “but I think that’s probably down to Trish, if she wants to tell you.” 

“You know, if you were going for ‘not suspicious’, you’re not doing so great,” Jessica said.

“That’s fair,” he replied,“will you tell her I called?”

Jessica pulled a face.

“Yeah, I’ll tell Trish ‘just some guy’ called.”

“Thanks, Jessica.” He replied, and hung up.

She raised a dark brow.

“Oh yeah, that’s not weird at all,” she said into the empty room.

Jessica turned the phone over in her hand a few times, resisting the urge to snoop. She considered picking the Bulletin back up, but who was she kidding? She wasn’t really reading it.

Trish emerged from the bathroom, towelling her wet hair.

“Finally,” she was sighing, “now I feel like I’m clean of that _awful_ day.” 

Jessica hadn’t asked exactly what had happened on _Trish Talk_ that morning, but she’d gathered that Trish had been dealing with some particularly difficult concerned-citizens-slash-assholes. 

Jessica shrugged.

“You’ve had worse, right?”

Trish threw the towel over the back of a chair.

“Not this week.” She replied.

Jessica held up her phone for her.

“So you had a call.” She said. Trish turned a little too quickly, raising a brow as she moved over to take it out of Jessica’s hand.

“Who was it?” She asked. Jessica narrowed her eyes at Trish a little, a smirk tugging at her lips.

“He wouldn’t say, but you’ve got him saved as ‘Wild Card’.” She said. 

Trish’s eyes flashed with momentary alarm, and Jessica’s smirk widened, now _that_ was an interesting reaction.

“You spoke to him?” Trish asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Jessica leaned back on the sofa, looking up at Trish.

“Alright, who is he?” She asked.

Trish let out a little sigh, before stepping round and dropping onto the sofa beside her.

“He’s a friend,” Trish said. 

Jessica levelled her with an ‘oh really?’ sort of look.

“That’s all,” Trish replied, “we’re just...” she trailed off a little.

“Fucking?” Jessica said. Trish swatted her arm with the paper.

“ _No_ ,” Trish said, then after a moment, “… not yet, anyway.”

“I knew it,” Jessica said. There was a long pause.

“So seriously, who is he?” She asked.

Trish unlocked her phone, hitting dial and springing back to her feet.

“You’re the PI, work it out,” she smiled. 

Jessica rolled her eyes.

–

 _Guys, terrible news. Turns out Talbots is_ – Gasp emoji – _closed for refurbishment!_

_No! Not the wine stains!_

_Well, shoot – what do we do now?_

_Movie night?_

_I could go for a movie night._

_I vote Ward’s. #youknowhesgotapersonalcinema_

Sigh emoji.

 _I can host but you guys are bringing supplies. No personal cinema, though, sorry._ Cry laughing emoji. Cocktail emoji. 100 emoji. 

_Trish’s it is then. BTW we’re watching Goonies._

_Ok we’re definitely gonna need a poll._

–

“I still can’t believe you all voted against my totally reasonable Halloween suggestion,” Misty said as she sliced up the last of the limes.

“It’s like, July.” Foggy countered, handing her an empty pitcher.

Misty shrugged.

“You only watch Die Hard at Christmas?” She hit back.

“Hey,” Trish passed Misty a bag of ice, “I wanted The Warriors, but Claire made her position on that _very_ clear.”

“I’m not sure I even actually know how to make a mojito.” Karen said, staring down the ingredients that had been arranged in front of her. 

There was a buzzing noise – Trish’s intercom. 

“Just try your best!” Trish encouraged with a smile, moving past her with some glasses.

“Your place is really, really nice, by the way,” Foggy called out as she passed.

Trish quickly deposited them on the table and headed for the door, checking the security screen before beginning, for the fourth time in the last half an hour, the intricate process of opening it.

Ward was in the hall, holding an unreasonably large bag of popcorn, nearly half as tall as he was.

“You brought popcorn!” Trish greeted with a smile. He gave her a little awkward smile in return.

“Just a little. Didn’t quite trust myself to bring wine _just_ yet,” he said, stepping inside.

Trish took the bag from him, her eyes flicking to his lips for just a moment.

He glanced past her, deeply aware that Claire, on the sofa, had a line of sight on them and was conspicuously not noticing his arrival.

“Let me just find a bathtub to serve this in,” Trish said, lightly brushing his arm before she pivoted towards the kitchen. 

Ward slipped off his coat and gave a quick wave to the group in the kitchen.

“Popcorn!” Foggy chirped happily.

“You think you brought enough, there, Ward?” Misty called.

Claire waved in greeting as he slung his coat over a chair, and dropped into the spot next to her on the sofa. She offered him a bowl of pretzels. 

“I’ve got to get me one of those doors,” Claire said. Ward grabbed a pretzel.

“Oh yeah,” he replied. “That’ll stop all those bothersome vigilantes.”

Claire gave him a knowing look.

“Sooooo,” she said, “you and Trish, eh?” 

“It’s not...” he hesitated, “what you think.”

Claire bit into another pretzel.

“It’s not _not_ what I think though, either, right?” She watched his face for a moment as he attempted to wrangle back a smile.

“Yeah I thought so,” she said. “Well, good. I like you more when you’re happy. You’re less...”

“Of an ass?” He jumped in teasingly.

“Well I wasn’t going to say it.” Claire said. 

“You were thinking it,” he replied, grabbing another pretzel.

Claire smiled.

“Eh, you’re not so bad,” she said, “not as bad as you think you are anyway.”

He shifted in his seat a little, uncomfortably.

“I’m not sure about that,” he replied, “that’s something you’ve got to work for.”

Claire contemplated that.

“We can’t all fight the forces of evil with our fists, though,” Claire replied.

Ward smiled a little.

“No, but … it’s like the sobriety. You wake up every day and start again, and try to do better,” he said, “and hope eventually you’ll be able to pull yourself back up.”

Claire gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

“Well, you got a bit realer than I was expecting there, but for what it’s worth, I think a bad person wouldn’t care enough to try,” she said. 

He nodded.

“Maybe. I guess it depends on if you believe enough good choices can make up for the bad ones,” he said, “maybe you’re only as good as the last choice you made.”

Claire smiled a little wearily.

“I think some people get trapped with only bad choices,” she said. He wondered if she was thinking about Luke, looking at her expression.

“Ok! These _might_ be mojitos!” Karen called from the kitchen. Claire thrust the bowl of pretzels into Ward’s hands and patted his knee as she got up from the sofa.

“Don’t eat all of these.” She said, and headed for the kitchen.

Ward rested the bowl on the side table besides him, and found himself staring at a glass of bourbon, seemingly left unattended. His gaze lingered for a moment, before he quickly averted his eyes, and crossed his arms. 

He didn’t have long to consider it, though, as the sofa was suddenly jostled as Trish climbed over the back and dropped into the seat beside him, carefully balancing a plastic bowl full of popcorn the size of a frisbee.

“Best I could do,” Trish said. She glanced at his contemplative expression, and past him to the glass on the side, and back. “You ok?”

Ward nodded. 

“Yeah,” he said, “I’ll be fine.” Trish watched him for a moment, and then reached out for his hand, lacing her fingers with his.

Claire returned, scooping up the bowl of pretzels with one hand and carrying a very questionable looking mojito in the other.

“That’s a lot of rum, Karen,” Claire said as she took a sip.

“Is that a complaint?” Karen replied, carrying a pitcher and nabbing an armchair. 

“I’m not complaining,” Misty chimed in, grabbing the other free chair. Foggy settled on to the floor in front of Karen, holding up a glass to her expectantly.

“Just to warn you all, if any of that ends up on my furniture you’re buying me new furniture,” Trish interjected, watching as Karen very, very carefully poured Foggy out a glass. “And that rug was _not_ cheap.”

Claire took the seat at the end of the sofa, noting Trish and Ward’s interlaced hands with a little smile.

“Ok, so, with a winning four votes, I present to you, Mystery Men,” Claire said, reaching for the remote.

–

“I can use basil instead of mint, right?” Foggy asked, peeking his head back out of Trish’s fridge. Misty shrugged.

She looked a little distant as she sliced up a few limes, and even though he’d had a few by now, Foggy wasn’t oblivious to her cloudy expression.

“Everything ok, Misty?” He asked quietly.

She shot him a quick, not particularly happy smile, and nodded.

“Yeah, just, going into the same little headspin I always do,” she gestured with one finger to her head.

“Mind if I ask what headspin that is?” Foggy asked, haphazardly ripping up what he sincerely hoped were basil leaves.

“Just...” Misty sighed a little, “even your boy Matt can’t trust the system to get it done. I’m still trying to get my head around the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen being a _lawyer_. That’s … one hell of a paradox.”

Foggy let out a little low chuckle.

“Tell me about it,” He smiled, “I get what you’re saying. I get stuck in that loop too.”

Misty chucked a few sliced limes in the pitcher and scrabbled around the dimly lit kitchen counter for the rum.

“When we took Wilson Fisk down that was through the law, though,” Foggy offered up. 

“Well sure,” Misty poured a healthy glug of rum into the pitcher, “but for every Wilson Fisk that ends up behind bars there’s a Mariah Dillard who walks away clean, and the system can’t touch them. Pushing her developments and whatever the hell else it is she’s in now she’s in charge.” 

Misty’s expression had moved from clouded to frustrated. Foggy threw his handful of torn leaves into the pitcher.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been drinking,” she said.

Foggy shook his head.

“Rant away, Detective,” he said, “I get it. I really, really do.”

Misty glanced across the apartment, to the others, happily watching the film, and lowered her voice a little.

“I know, it’s just, knowing what we know and not being able to do anything about it is too much sometimes,” she said quietly. “I mean, Ward’s one of us, but you think about the allegations that get made about Rand, and what we know about his father now, don’t you wonder how much of that is probably true?”

She sighed.

“And it will all just disappear, and nobody will ever even know about all of this terrifying shit happening in this company that makes their toothpaste, you know? We can’t do a damn thing about it.”

Foggy followed her eyes, looking at the silhouettes against the shifting light of the screen with a troubled expression.

“Well, I guess that’s why we have this,” he gestured between the two of them, “so we don’t have to keep all these secrets alone. So we have people we can trust.”

Misty shrugged a little.

“… well, that or a kind of mutually assured destruction.” She said. 

“It can be two things,” Foggy said, which got him a little smile from Misty. He was pleased he’d been able to lift her mood, even a little.

“I guess that’s the downside of the _anonymous_ part,” he said, “we can’t team up and use what we know to become our very own crime fighting superteam. _With our powers combined_.”

Misty laughed a little.

“Well, me and the Force aren’t exactly on great terms right now, I could probably find time for a new team,” she said.

Foggy fixed her with a serious look.

“I know you talk to Claire, but, seriously though. This thing we’ve got, it means you don’t have to pretend you’re ok when you’re not. You can talk to us, me, Karen, Trish. Hey, even Ward’s started to warm up to us,” he said.

Misty scoffed a little.

“Did you know we went for coffee the other day?”

“You and Ward?” Misty raised a brow.

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t want to jinx things, but I think we might actually be friends, now,” Foggy grinned, “he asked _me_.”

Misty laughed.

“Thanks, Foggy,” she said. 

“Anytime,” he replied, reaching for a spoon to stir the pitcher before giving up and just swirling it about in his hands inelegantly. Misty looked back over to the others, her face clouding over again, just for a moment.

“Let’s make sure we’re looking out for Claire too,” Misty said. “I know she’s kind of our unofficial leader, but I know when she’s putting on a brave face.”

Foggy nodded.

“Things still going nowhere with Luke’s appeal?” He asked.

Misty pulled a face.

“There’s some powerful people with a pretty vested interest in keeping him in Seagate, y’know.”

“I’ll bet,” Foggy said. “Well… there’s nothing in the rules saying we can’t help each other out a bit. Anonymously.” He said, with a little waggle of the brows.

Misty smiled.

“Oh we have rules now?” 

“Yeah,” Foggy replied, “the first rule of Sidekicks Anonymous is-” 

Misty cut him off abruptly.

“I swear, Nelson, if you make a Fight Club reference right now, I will dump this pitcher over your head,” she said. 

Foggy threw up a hand.

“Noted.” He grinned.

Misty picked up the pitcher and gestured for Foggy to grab a handful of fresh glasses, and made her way back to the others.

As they approached, Foggy took a breath, ready to let out a bright greeting of ‘Top up?’ when Claire and Karen both quickly turned, one finger over their lips, shushing him before he could speak.

“We’re trying not to wake them,” Karen whispered.

Claire pointed to Ward and Trish on the sofa beside her as Misty and Foggy stepped round. Both were crashed out with Trish curled up in her seat, resting against Ward’s chest with one arm wrapped about his waist, and his arm circled, protectively, about her shoulder, his cheek resting on the top of her head. They were fast asleep, oblivious to the others around them.

Claire and Misty exchanged a knowing grin.

Foggy very quietly moved back to his seat and poured Karen a new glass.

“Totally called it,” Claire whispered as Misty stepped past and slipped back into her chair.

\---

Trish was woken by something buzzing near her foot, and realised immediately that she had a)fallen asleep some time ago and b)that her face was currently buried in someone’s shoulder. Specifically, as she pulled back, Ward Meachum’s, who was crashed out, head lolled back, with one arm circled around her shoulders.

She reached up, resting her hand on his chest as she pulled herself up, and found her fingers brushing against the edge of what felt like a square of paper. 

She glanced about, her eyes bleary, around the empty room. The only light was the glow of the screen, where the menu was looping over and over again. She blinked some sleep out of her eyes and took a second look – someone had stuck a postit note to Ward’s chest.

_‘Hey sleeping beauties. We didn’t have the heart to disturb you two. Sorry about the mess. <3 SA’_

Trish rubbed her eyes a little. The light from the screen flickered across Ward’s face. He looked peaceful, his dark hair a mess, like an inky blot against the white leather. She reached up and pushed some strands away from his eyes carefully.

His eyes flickered open drowsily.

“Sorry,” she murmured, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He blinked a few times, before lurching forward, pushing his hair back.

“Wake...” he looked about at the empty, dark lounge, “ah.” 

“Yeah,” Trish let out a little chuckle, “we, uh, we did well there.”

Ward massaged the bridge of his nose.

“I haven’t fallen asleep in a movie for years,” he said. 

“I haven’t stayed awake through a movie in years,” Trish replied, raking her hand through her hair.

He stretched his back, attempting to work out some of the stiff knots that had settled in, and rubbed at his neck. He must’ve been exhausted to crash out in such an awkward position. 

Trish sat forward, taking in the ‘mess’. Some empty glasses filled with mint leaves, a few empty pitchers, and not a scrap of popcorn left uneaten, which made her smile.

Near her foot, she saw her phone, and an alarm going. _Ah, the buzzing._ She reached for it and dismissed the alert – a reminder, only six hours late, that it was movie night – and took a look at the time. Only half past midnight? Wow, they’d really put on a poor show.

“I’d better get going,” Ward said, shuffling forward.

Trish bit her lip, and turned, reaching for his arm.

“Wait,” she said. His eyes flickered to her hand, and back to her eyes.

“It’s ok,” he said. “I can go.” 

“I know,” she said, “but you could stay.”

Ward hesitated for a moment, before gently pulling her forward to press a tentative kiss to her lips. 

He felt her smile against his lips, and she reached up, cupping his face and deepening the kiss. 

He traced his hand down her neck, grazing over her collarbone and broke away.

His eyes met hers, a little hazy and unfocused.

“Running away?” Trish asked quietly, aware of his hesitation. She leant in, her lips brushing against the corner of his.

“No,” he said, tilting his head a little, catching her kiss, “I just...” 

“What?” She pulled back. He was studying her face, eyes tracing across her features. His expression was anxious.

“You told me you thought I was honest,” he said. “I need to tell you something. Some things.”

He let out a deep, shaking breath, and Trish drew back, taking in his demeanour. He was terrified, she realised.

His eyes darted up, meeting hers for just a moment.

“It’s about what happened with my father,” he said. 

Trish settled back, pushing down an uneasy swirling in her stomach, but she said nothing, just letting him talk.

With the flickering light crossing his features, and his dark hair fallen across his face, half hiding his eyes, he told her about his father. Everything about him, the monster he was before he died, the monster he became, and all of the desperate things he had done to try and escape him. All of the terrible things he had done.

Trish listened to all of it silently, watching his eyes well with tears, and his attempts to push them back so he could speak.

She took a breath. Ward could barely meet her eyes, but he forced his gaze to hers. She searched his eyes silently. 

If he’d looked terrified before, he looked even more so now.

“You can ask me to leave,” he said quietly, his voice a low rasp. “I will.”

Trish studied him for a moment, and then she edged forward, reaching out and sliding her fingers into his.

“Just, wait,” she said firmly. 

Then she started telling her own story, starting with the only place she could really start. Her mother. Jessica, Kilgrave, Simpson, all of it. 

When she’d finished, Ward was watching her, and she realised when she met his eyes that his fear had dissolved, replaced with what could only be described as reverence. He lifted her fingers to his lips, brushing a careful kiss to her calloused knuckles.

“… you returned the money right?” Trish asked. Ward cracked a small, sombre smile.

“All of it,” he replied, honestly.

“Good,” she replied, and then reached forward, knotting her fingers into his shirt and pulling him to her for a hungry kiss.

–

_‘Had to grab some dry cleaning, I’ll be back soon. Help yourself to coffee? T x’_

Ward turned the note over in his hand and smiled. He slipped out of the bed and pulled on his discarded jeans. Out of years of habit, he quickly straightened up the bed, and lingered for a moment, eyes tracing over Trish’s pictures, trying not to feel like an intruder.

He wandered out into the kitchen.

Now, where would a woman like Trish hide her coffee?

He successfully located a mug, but as he shut the cupboard door, suddenly found he’d been joined by a dark haired woman, leaning against the counter and smiling.

He nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Jesus,” he let out a sharp exhale. The woman smiled.

“Morning,” she greeted with a satisfied smirk.

After he regained his composure, he leaned back against the side, giving her a weary smile.

“You must be Jessica,” he said.

Jessica gave him a once over, clearly noting his half-dressed state, and her smirk widened.

“… and you must be Ward.” She said, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Hi.”

Ward cleared his throat.

“I was making coffee,” he said, glancing about, “that is if I can find it. You uh… want one?”

Jessica pointed to a corner cupboard.

“It’s over there, and sure, why not,” she said, moving past him.

He nodded a little, and grabbed an extra mug out of the cupboard.

Jessica handed him the coffee can.

“… milk? Sugar?” he asked.

She shrugged.

“Sure, whatever,” she said, and perched on a seat, watching as he navigated the kitchen, unsure.

“First time you’ve been here?” She asked.

“Oh no, this is how I always make coffee,” he replied. “Trish isn’t here,” he added.

“I figured,” Jessica said. “But hey, you are.” 

“That I am,” he handed her the cup. “This might be terrible.” He apologised pre-emptively. 

She took a sip.

“Tastes like coffee.” Jessica replied dryly. Ward took a few sips of his own, very aware of Jessica’s scrutinising gaze, and his own state. _Don’t be too long, Trish,_ he thought quietly.

“I’m pretty relieved she was talking about you,” Jessica said suddenly. “I’m not going to lie, when Trish said the person she was seeing was someone from Rand, I was just a little worried she was talking about Danny.”

Ward raised a brow.

“Oh, so you’ve met him,” he said. That made Jessica crack a smile.

“Yeah, we ran into eachother the other day when I was...”

“Being a vigilante?”

Jessica shrugged.

“Pretty much,” she said, then bluntly shifted gears, “how’s your sister? Joy, wasn’t it?”

Ward’s smile faded a little, putting a few things together.

“Of course you’re the private detective she hired,” Ward said. “Anything else would just be too coincidental.”

Jessica sipped her coffee, looking just a little pleased with herself for throwing him off guard.

“She seemed alright, a little ruthless,” Jessica said. “You fired that whole board, though, right?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly how business works,” he replied flatly.

They heard the door, as Trish returned, in a hoodie and glasses, with her dry cleaning slung over one shoulder. She paused as she looked between Ward, and Jessica, and back.

“Trish!” Jessica greeted with faux cheeriness, “We’re having coffee!”

Trish rested the dry cleaning over a chair and pushed her glasses up on top of her head. She looked over to Ward, who flashed her a little bemused smile.

She approached, smiling uneasily at Jessica, and stepped over to him. 

“Morning,” he greeted warmly. She perched up on her toes, giving him a quick reassuring peck on the lips.

“Hey, glad you’re still here,” she smiled, and turned to Jessica. “She’s not been too hard on you, has she?” 

Jessica threw up her hands.

“I’ve been on my best behaviour, scouts honour,” she said. 

Ward looked between the two.

“Well, I think I should … probably be dressed now,” he said after a beat, and rested his cup down.

He weaved back off to the bedroom, taking a quick detour by the sofa to grab his shirt.

Trish stepped over to the kitchen island, and leant against it, where Jessica was giving her a wry look.

“So, that’s Ward Meachum, huh?” Jessica said. “Well, he’s better looking in real life.” She added.

Trish gave her a firm look.

“Everything ok?” Trish asked, cutting straight past the teasing.

Jessica nodded.

“Yeah, just wanted to run some things by you, but I can come back later,” she said. “What are your plans for today, I mean, besides Ward?” Jessica asked.

Trish rolled her eyes just a little.

“I’ll be around later,” she said, “you sure everything’s alright?”

Jessica gave her a little, genuine smile.

“Honestly. Sometimes I just have mostly normal problems.”

“Sometimes,” Trish smiled back fondly.

Jessica turned her coffee about in her hands, a teasing smirk beginning to creep back onto her face.

“Alright I can practically hear the snark building up,” Trish reached forward, snatching the coffee from Jessica’s hands. “Spit it out.”

“I’m just … glad you’ve finally found a guy with a net worth that’s deserving of you,” Jessica grinned.

Trish raised a brow, expecting a little worse.

“I was going to make a Trump Junior joke but I think that would be a step too far,” Jessica added, grin widening.

Trish scrunched up her face in disgust.

“Yes, that would be a step too far,” Trish said, sipping her stolen coffee.

“Seriously though, he’s kind of snippy,” Jessica said, then added with a little nod, “I like it.”

“Yeah,” Trish replied, “me too.”

–

Foggy looked at Misty anxiously as she studied his phone across the booth.

“So, what’s your expert opinion, Detective?” He asked, unable to stop awkwardly tugging at his collar.

Misty took a deep breath, and levelled her gaze at the lawyer.

“Honestly?”

His face fell.

“I knew it.”

Ward, who was sat beside Foggy, gave him a half hearted pat on the shoulder.

“She’s a tough girl, Nelson, she’ll be ok.” He said. Foggy shook his head.

“Well yeah if she’s just decided to go meet with him, but if he’s snapped and kidnapped her….” Foggy mumbled.

“Well you defended the guy in court, Foggy, do you think he’d do that?” Misty said, handing him back the phone.

Foggy sighed.

“Probably not but maybe?” He answered with absolutely no confidence.

“What are we debating?” Claire returned to the table balancing a handful of drinks, with Trish carrying a few more and a bottle of wine besides her.

“Karen’s message about why she’s not coming,” Ward answered. 

“Specifically,” Misty replied, climbing out of her seat to let Claire past, “whether Karen’s text message has anything to do with The Punisher.”

“Why would it have anything to do with him?” Claire asked, distributing the drinks. Trish slid in next to Ward, settling the bottle in front of Misty, and reaching for the phone across the table.

_‘Sorry, can’t make it tonight, old friend in town. Send my love to SA.’_

Trish frowned.

“So we think this ‘old friend’ is code for Frank Castle?” She asked.

“Probably.” Misty and Foggy answered simultaneously.

“Could be Matt,” Claire suggested.

“Wouldn’t she just say that, though?” Trish asked.

There was a long pause.

Foggy buried his head in his hands.

“It’s Frank. He’s snapped and kidnapped her and her text message is a cry for help.” Foggy murmured, half seriously.

“Or she’s really meeting an old friend,” Trish handed back the phone. 

She stretched her neck, and then scooched up, just a little, to lean into Ward. She shot him a small smile, and he, casually as he was able to, swung his arm to rest over the booth behind her, not quite around her shoulder, not quite -not- around her shoulder.

Misty’s eyes darted around this whole body language tango and she cracked a knowing smile.

“Should I just message her back and ask her? Is that stupid?” Foggy asked.

“You could send her a ‘be safe’, just in case,” Claire said.

“Do we actually know if there’s anything going on there?” Trish asked. “I mean you both kind of dance around it, so I don’t know if you’re being serious, but should we really be worried?”

Foggy sighed.

“It’s complicated and it’s Karen’s business,” he said. “I think he’s very dangerous, and probably insane, but … I don’t think he’d hurt her. He actually saved her life a few times.”

“Was this after he escaped from prison?” Misty asked bluntly.

“And there was a horrifying conspiracy to kill all of us and blame him, yeah,” Foggy replied. “In which I got shot, by the way, and then ninjas attacked the hospital. That was a good Wednesday.”

Claire shuddered.

“I’d nearly managed to erase the memory of that, Foggy, thanks,” she said.

“Hey, I still have nightmares about it,” Foggy said. “I’m just making use of our excellent free therapy system we’ve got going here.”

“If I never encounter The Hand ever again I will die a happy man,” Ward said.

Foggy raised a glass.

“I will drink to that,” He said, and then noted Trish’s head, resting a little on Ward’s shoulder, his fingers just brushing her hair. 

“So, something’s changed,” He said, giving them a pointed look. Ward raised a brow.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Trish replied breezily, reaching out for the wine bottle to pour out a few glasses.

“I think it’s the new booths,” Ward said. “It’s almost like a real bar in here.”

“That’ll be it,” Misty smiled.

“I can’t believe we’ve been here for nearly an hour and nobody has addressed the shade of purple they have painted this place,” Claire said. “Sorry, purple is generous. This is… I wanna say puce?” 

“Yeah, we’re gonna need to find a new bar,” Foggy said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback, criticism, anything welcome.


	4. Pie, Parks, Phonecalls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen says goodbye, Trish and Ward get rumbled, and Sidekicks Anonymous try a change of scenery.

Karen and Foggy surveyed The Grind – not, as you might think, a coffee shop – with a pair of matching, dubious expressions.

“Well, the décor is a slight improvement?” Foggy said, gesturing to the assorted selection of random ropes knotted and hung on the various walls.

“Is it a sailor theme?” Karen looked about as they approached the bar, “I don’t get the clocks?” 

There were dozens, in fact, on every wall. 

“I’m not sure this place is gross enough,” she added, snatching up a menu to flick through whilst the bar staff were busy. It was clean, and only moderately busy, and suspiciously lacking in wine stains on the carpets.

“I think that says more about our history of chosen drinking establishments than anything,” Foggy replied.

“Oh man, no cocktails?” Karen pulled a face, surveying the extensive menu. 

“Perfect,” Foggy grinned, pointing to a discreet little alcove in the corner, “let’s not write this off just yet. Grab some bottles of wine or whatever, I’m getting that spot before someone else takes it.”

It was a little less roomy than the booths at Talbot’s, but if The Grind got anywhere as busy as its reputation, this would definitely the stealthiest spot to hide.

Karen brought over a couple of bottles of red and a handful of glasses, and slipped in besides Foggy. She scooted up into the corner and rested back in her chair with a grateful sigh.

“Well, it’s not _that_ much more expensive,” she said.

They settled down with their drinks, and for a moment, there was a comfortable pause between them.

Foggy had held off asking for as long as he physically could.

“So how was your ‘old friend’?” He asked. Karen sat up a little, avoiding his eyes for a moment.

“Yeah, good,” she replied.

“Was it Frank?” Foggy asked bluntly.

Karen didn’t respond, but her expression answered for her.

“I knew it was,” Foggy said.

Karen leant forward, reaching for one of the bottles. 

“Is he…” Foggy fumbled a moment for the right word, but realised he didn’t really know what he meant to ask, “alright?” 

Karen smirked a little.

“He’s alive,” she replied. She poured herself a very, very large glass, and took a breath, clearly resigned to having to tell this story.

“Seems like finding The Blacksmith wasn’t really the end for him,” Karen sighed, “but … he wasn’t asking me to get involved.”

Foggy nodded, grateful for that, at least.

“Did you get an explanation for the postcards, at least?” He asked.

“Actually, yes,” Karen said. “He wanted to apologise to me. Didn’t know how.”

“Huh,” Foggy sat back a bit. 

“Mmm,” Karen took a sip. She hesitated for a moment, clearly holding something back, but shied away, “that was all.”

Foggy could tell that wasn’t all by any stretch, but he didn’t push it, instead he reached forward and poured his own over-full glass. She’d tell him if she wanted to, he figured.

“Well, next time you see him, say hi, I guess?” Foggy said.

Karen gave him a little, sad sort of smile and said, “I don’t think I will.”

–

Karen had told Foggy only a fraction of what had actually happened, of course.

It had been surreal, sitting on a park bench in the early hours of the morning, next to Frank Castle. He was talking to her, but she got that sense, as she’d had a few times before when they’d spoken, that only a part of him was there speaking with her, the rest of his mind occupied with tracking every movement, every sound in the world around them, one finger tapping against his trigger finger.

“So Red told you then? Who he is? What he is?” Frank had asked her.

“Well, he clearly told you,” she replied, trying hard not to sound too sharp on the topic of Matt Murdock.

“No,” Frank said, “but I can see it on your face.”

Karen had closed herself off from him, keeping her arms folded, her eyes fixed on the ground in front of her. It hadn’t done much to deter Frank’s ability to cut straight past her defences, unfortunately. 

“Why the postcards?” She’d asked.

She could see Frank smirk from the corner of her eye, and glance away.

“I didn’t know how else to speak to you,” he said. “No. What I mean is, I didn’t know how to say what I needed to say to you.”

Karen had finally, really looked at him, then. 

“… and what was that?” She’d asked.

Frank wasn’t afraid of meeting her gaze, and it made her feel rooted to the spot when he did.

“That I’m sorry, for what happened to you, because of me,” he said.

Karen had been the first to break her eyes away, unable to handle the sincerity of his expression.

“It’s a lot to ask me here just to say ‘sorry’, Frank,” she’d said.

“I know,” he replied, and then smiled again, that bitter sort of smile she’d seen before a few times, “and even doing this is selfish.” He’d sat forward, rubbing his hand over the back of his head.

“Truth is, when you were helping me – when you were looking with me, that’s when I could get my head straight - see things for what they really were. Like everything came into focus. I never thanked you for that,” he paused, “clearing my mind.” 

Karen had felt her stomach twist, somersault in place. She’d swallowed.

“I wanted to feel that again,” he said, “so, there’s another thing I have to apologise for.”

Karen had taken a shaky breath.

“Frank, whatever it is you’re doing now, I can’t help you-” she’d started. He had sat back, abruptly, and fixed her with a sharp look.

“I’m not asking for your help, Karen. I don’t want you anywhere near this.”

Karen had pushed some hair away from her eyes, and tried to hold her ground against the intensity of his gaze.

“I can’t….” she hesitated, “I don’t know what you want from me, Frank.”

Frank shook his head.

“I don’t want anything. I meant what I said. I’m sorry, Karen.”

That twisting in her stomach was giving way to something else - her own instinctual sense, of the purpose of this meeting. The thing he wasn’t saying, but was being said, with every sentence. 

“This is goodbye, isn’t it?” She’d said.

For maybe the only time, Frank flinched first, looking away for a moment.

“Yeah,” he said.

Karen had considered what, if anything, she wanted to say. What she’d say to Frank Castle if this was the last time she’d say anything to him now that she had a second chance at a last goodbye. 

She’d cleared the space between them, reaching for his collar.

–

“It feels kind of weird having no Claire, doesn’t it?” Misty said as she poured herself a glass and glanced at the open space beside her. Even in a new bar, Claire’s designated spot at the head of the booth was left vacant, out of respect.

“We’re down a Red Ranger,” Foggy agreed.

“But for all the right reasons, right?” Karen said, smiling.

Luke Cage had been released from Seagate two days prior, so there had been no explanation needed to accompany Claire’s ‘not gonna make it’ message.

Trish gave a slightly halting smile, but across the table from her Misty burst into a grin.

“I’ve been replaying Mariah Dillard’s face when I told her on repeat,” she said, “I should’ve filmed it.”

Karen held up her glass.

“We should toast, you know, to our absent captain,” she said.

“And justice!” Foggy added, happily raising his glass beside her.

They brought their glasses together with a little cheer, save Ward, who had no glass, but joined in with the cheer anyway.

“Always a fan of justice,” Misty said as she took a triumphant sip. 

“Is _that_ the theme?” Trish wondered aloud, pointing to the bit of hanging rope to her right, providing them a little more camouflage in their little hidey-hole. “No, that would be way too abstract.” She decided.

“I thought they were going for an Alice in Wonderland thing?” Ward replied, half distracted by a buzzing from his jacket pocket.

“They _do_ have those chess tiles in the bathroom,” Karen considered.

“I don’t feel like that explains the ropes,” Foggy replied, looking puzzled.

Ward pulled out his phone – his face suddenly shifting, the hint of a smile that had been there dissipating into nothing.

“Sorry,” he quietly excused himself, crawling past Trish carefully and heading off across the bar, bringing his phone to his ear. The others were pouring fresh drinks. Trish, wine glass poised in her hand, watched him go, a frown clouding her features.

“Nautical time travel?” Karen suggested.

“You know we’ve definitely thought about this more than they ever have,” Misty said, “I think the theme is actually ‘whatever random shit we found lying around’.”

–

“Ward,” came Joy’s familiar voice, quiet and crackling over the line. He covered one ear, blocking out the roar of cars and bustling voices of the street around him, to try and hear her.

For a moment, he couldn’t even speak. He had so much to ask her, but all he could manage was, “Joy… are you safe?”

“I’m ok, Ward, I’m fine,” she replied. She sounded bright - he’d almost forgotten.

“You’re not going to ask me where I am?” She asked when he said nothing.

Ward hesitated.

“No. If you want to tell me, you will,” he replied, “I just need to know you’re ok.”

He thought she might’ve laughed – it was hard to hear her across the crackling line. A siren, a block over, added to the noise of the already busy sidewalk.

“Are you happy?” He asked, realising that really, that’s what he wanted to know more than anything else.

There was a long pause. He held his breath.

“Yes,” she replied, then after a moment, “I was reading about what you’ve been doing. Shutting the Plants.”

Ward didn’t know how to respond, so he didn’t.

“Are you going to undo everything Dad made? Is that the plan?” She asked. There was something steely in her tone.

He felt something turn in the pit of his stomach.

“Maybe,” he replied.

“Good,” she said bluntly, “and Danny, he’s not involved?”

“No,” Ward said.

Another pause, and a small sigh, barely audible across the line.

“You didn’t even want this, but you’re stuck holding up the legacy again, aren’t you?” She sounded strange. Regretful. 

He felt tears, unbidden, welling in his eyes. 

“Will you come home?” He asked quietly.

“Ward,” she said after a moment, “I’m sorry for how we left things. Whatever else happened ... you’re still my brother. I love you.”

He barely noticed that Trish had slipped out of the bar on to the street besides him, pulling her cardigan about her shoulders, watching him with quiet concern. All Ward could focus on was Joy’s breathing on the other end of the line, maybe thousands of miles away, and he’d never know.

“I love you too,” he said. 

“Be safe, Ward,” she said, and too quickly, the line cut – she was gone.

Ward closed his eyes, clinging for a few, reverberating seconds to her last words, before he let the phone slide from his ear.

Trish watched him compose himself, sliding his phone back in his pocket, running a hand through his hair and turning to her with a weak smile.

“Your sister?” She guessed.

Ward nodded.

She didn’t say anything else, just stepped forward and slipped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him to her in a tight hug. 

–

_Spotted! Trish Walker cuddled up to Rand Enterprises CEO Ward Meachum outside The Grind._

_‘They looked really cozy,’ our eyewitness told us, ‘like a proper couple!’_

–

 _‘You still know that reporter? Karen Page?’_ read the text message from Jessica. Trish stared for a moment as she poured out her green tea. 

_‘I do,’_ she quickly scrabbled back, _‘u know it’s like 5.30 right?’_

The sun was only just rising, and whilst for Trish this was just ‘the morning’, she was pretty sure that Jessica had never seen this time of day unless she was still rolling from the previous night.

 _‘I do. Think she’d mind if I just cold called her – want to ask about an article’_ came Jessica’s reply.

Trish blew across the surface of her tea, briefly picturing poor Karen handling Jessica at full force.

 _‘ur not gonna scare her right?’_ she asked.

_‘Promise. Number?’_

Trish quickly pinged over Karen’s contact details.

 _‘be nice.’_ She said.

 _‘I’m always nice ;) ,’_ Jessica replied. Then after a moment, sent a follow up message - _‘btw, at some point we gotta talk about the fact that you’re basically dating me but a dude. Later.’_

Trish rolled her eyes.

 _‘We’re not dating,’_ Trish replied.

 _‘Tell that to the Bulletin’_ came Jessica’s reply.

Trish was seized by a familiar, ground-falling-out-from-underneath-you sort of feeling. She set down her tea on the counter.

–

“This comments section is something, alright,” Misty raised a brow as she scrolled down her screen, then she grinned, and started quoting, “ ‘just a week after Danny Rand is spotted with a ‘mystery brunette’? No coincidence, clearly trying to shut down the _rumours’_.”

Claire, in a predictably great mood, just scoffed into her coffee, one hand flicking idly through a magazine. 

They were in a small diner – Misty and Claire fresh off an early start, Foggy rolling in late and going through a substantial pile of paperwork.

“Did you hear _Trish Talk_ this morning?” Foggy said, “it was not pretty.”

–

_‘-a drug addict! You’re supposed to be a role model-’_

_‘- don’t you know what that sick company has done? My neighbour died of cancer because of those bloodsucking assholes-’_

_‘-just like all the other one percenters, pretending you’re like the rest of -’_

_‘- I used to respect you -’_

_‘- vaccines! Shilling this poison to line their own pockets -’_

“Listen,” Trish, at the end of her wits, cut across, “even if it were any of your business, which it is not, in any way-”

_‘-it’s called freedom of speech -’_

“It’s freedom of speech right up until it's Slander,” Trish replied, channelling her inner Jeri Hogarth, “just FYI.”

–

“You gotta hope Ward skipped listening this morning,” Misty said with a sympathetic shake of the head.

“Well, at least there wasn’t like a big picture of all of us,” Foggy considered, “all ‘hey! Villains of New York, here’s a kidnapping victim list.’”

“I miss one night, and you guys nearly get our whole secret club exposed,” Claire chided with a little smirk, “I mean – The Grind? Who goes to the _The Grind_?”

“You didn’t even see all the clocks,” Foggy said.

Claire rolled her eyes.

“I wonder how Karen’s doing?” Misty wondered. 

The first any of the three had heard about this whole debacle was the series of loud, apologetic full caps messages from Karen to ‘ _Sidekicks Anonymous Or Whatever_ ’ at around 7.01 AM.

_‘I SWEAR I HAD NO IDEA. I’M SO SORRY. I’M GONNA GO GET SOMEONE FIRED’._

“She’s probably going nuclear on one veeeery confused intern right about now,” Foggy said. “Trust me - she might not look it but that woman can be very, very intense.”

“Oh, I believe it,” Misty said.

“So do we think Trish and Ward are finally going to admit to us they’ve been hooking up on the sly?” Claire asked.

Misty shrugged.

“Do they need to? I mean - they must know we already know.”

“I’m pretty sure I knew before they knew,” Claire agreed.

Foggy piled a few more sheets of paperwork to one side.

“Well, I guess that’s that for _The Grind_ ,” he said. “So, what are doing on Friday instead?”

–

It was fuelled with a strange, tranquil sort of fury and frustration that Trish Walker marched her way right to the offices of Rand, not even bothering to hide her face with a discreet hat, or sunglasses, carrying a small box.

Her knuckles were still buzzing from her first attempt to clear her head.

The receptionist had paused to ask her who she was there to meet when she was cut off by a young man, presumably part of security from his outfit, who quickly buzzed her through the glass doors with a ‘big fan’ by ways of explanation. 

Trish saw the guy conspiratorially showing the receptionist this morning’s Bulletin as she cleared through the doors towards the elevator, and couldn’t do much else but laugh. At least she was used to this shit by now.

Ward’s big fancy office was laughably easy to infiltrate, as it turned out. 

Trish paused briefly by the two portraits hanging on the wall as she stepped out of the elevator – a very business-like looking Ward and Danny Rand himself – and wondered briefly why Joy wasn’t on the wall beside them.

A woman approached from a corner door, looking slightly timid but with a friendly smile as she approached.

“Excuse me, can I help you Miss?” She asked.

Trish flashed her a big grin in response, plastered over her quiet fury.

“Is Ward Meachum around?” She asked, as casually as anyone could roll into a billion dollar company and ask to see the chief executive.

The woman blinked for a moment, before clearing her throat.

“Do you …,” she hesitated, “do you have an appointment?” Clearly, Ward didn’t get all that many unscheduled visitors. The woman drifted back towards her desk, and Trish noted a small origami flower, displayed with pride in a matching, miniature vase. 

“No I don’t,” Trish replied, considering for the first time that Ward might not even actually be there, “could you tell him Trish is here to see him?”

The woman went to check something on her monitor and looked up to flash Trish a polite smile, but was seemingly stopped in her tracks, looking over Trish’s shoulder with a slightly surprised expression.

“Oh - Mr Meachum! You have a visitor,” she said. 

Trish spun to find herself face to face with Ward himself, who looked bemused, arms folded.

“I saw you come in,” he said, “we have these really discreet glass walls everywhere.” 

He was, she noticed, hanging back from her a little, purposefully closed off and wary – after all, he was right, they were surrounded by mostly glass, and quite exposed. She took a breath, surprised by how happy she was to see him, her quiet fury already pooling away, just a little.

He was looking at the box in her hand, and the pretty print pattern surrounding the word ‘patisserie’ on the top.

“Did you … bring me cake?” He asked, looking between it and her, waiting for some sort of explanation with a raised brow.

“Pie, actually,” Trish replied. “I thought we could eat it – here if you’re busy, or somewhere else if you’re not.”

Now she was actually in Ward’s office, the finer details of her frustration filled pastry plan were becoming a little more confused.

Ward’s expression was getting more and more bemused by the second, but he looked charmed, regardless.

“Are you ok?” He asked. 

Evidently, Ward had neither seen this morning’s Bulletin, nor caught _Trish Talk_. Trish couldn’t help but smile a little. Of course he hadn’t. Well, that was certainly for the best.

“I’ve been better,” she admitted, “but mostly I’d like to take back control over the things that happen to me, so that’s what I’m doing.”

Ward’s charmed expression shifted to something a lot more concerned, and his distant body language dissolved as he reached out, his hand going to her shoulder. 

“What happened?” He asked, searching her face intently.

Trish sighed.

“I’m guessing you didn’t understand Karen’s message this morning either,” she said, “we’ve been rumbled.” Then, to avoid explaining further, she fished her phone out of her pocket, and just showed him instead.

After a moment, Ward gave a little, world-weary nod of the head.

“Well, that explains the parade of people trying to high five me this morning,” he said, then after a little pause, looked to Trish, “so, what do you want to do now?”

Trish held up the box.

“Like I said, I’d like to take control back. Want to come take it back with me?” She asked, by now very aware of those glass walls, and their indiscreet audience of peering faces from various offices, trying not be noticed. Even the secretary behind had made no effort to make herself scarce – this was hardly a private moment.

Ward chewed that over for a few seconds with a serious expression.

“Are we talking apple pie here, or…?” He asked.

“Banoffee,” she said.

He smiled - that genuine, bright smile she’d managed to coax out of him a few times now.

“How could I say no to that?” He said. 

“Nobody could, that’s why I brought banoffee.” Trish replied with a wry grin.

Ward looked past her to the secretary and gave her a little polite smile.

“Megan, I’ll be out of the office for a while – I trust you to make sure nobody burns anything down while I’m gone,” he said, then added, “that includes Danny.”

Megan, still lingering behind them, had a barely suppressed grin on her face, but was doing her best to compose herself.

“Of course, Mr Meachum,” she said.

He called the elevator, and Trish gave the grinning Megan a little nod.

“Nice to meet you, Megan,” she said. The elevator doors opened, and Trish held out her hand to Ward with an air of steely determination.

“Shall we?” She said.

Ward took her hand and pulled her to him, pressing a simple, unfettered kiss to her lips.

“Lead the way,” he said.

–

A few hours later, Foggy was twenty minutes into an intensely unexciting meeting when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket – a follow up message from Karen.

_‘OK, not able to get anyone fired. Sorry. Trish+Ward, u ok?’_

Foggy wondered briefly if Karen really _had_ tried to get someone fired before pocketing his phone again. What would she even object about, anyway? Journalistic integrity?

Then, after a few minutes with no response, there was another buzz. Another message from Karen.

_‘Has anyone spoken to them?’ ___

__This time there was a much quicker response, from Trish herself._ _

____‘We’re all good Kare – don’t worry.’__ _ _

____And then - _‘We’re eating pie! In a park!’_ – and it was accompanied by a picture as evidence, of Trish grinning in a pair of sunglasses, holding up a forkful of pie in case they didn’t believe her. Behind her, avoiding the camera with a small, trying-not-to-look-too-pleased-with-himself smile, was Ward._ _ _ _

____Foggy was typing out a ‘I want pie!’ response when, across the desk, Jeri Hogarth cleared her throat._ _ _ _

____“I’m sorry, Franklin,” Jeri said sharply, “are we distracting you from your terribly busy day with the details of this defamation case?”_ _ _ _

____Foggy, chided, discretely hid his phone back away._ _ _ _

____“Sorry,” he said quietly, and ignored the furious round of buzzing that was kicking off in his pocket._ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait for an update - hopefully the next one will be much quicker.
> 
> As always feedback, criticism, anything welcome.


	5. Plants, Problems, Pizza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trish and Ward face up to some home truths, Misty deals with some questions, and Sidekicks Anonymous settle some serious business.

“So we hit a milestone today,” Karen said, topping up Misty’s glass.

“Oh yeah?” The detective raised a brow.

“In today’s Bulletin. Not one crime story reported. Not one.” Karen said, just a little triumphant.

Misty scoffed, snatching up her glass and leaning back into the booth with a sceptical expression.

“Ok – well I can tell you for a fact that was not because there was no crimes to report _on_ ,” she said.

Karen nodded understandingly, taking up her own glass.

“Oh I know, but for once, people got to read their paper and not think about it. I wonder if they even noticed?” 

This was the first time it had just been Misty and Karen alone in Talbots - not to mention the first time they’d seen each other in some weeks – and they’d pushed past the initial awkwardness by getting two pitchers straight off the bat.

It wasn’t that they had little in common. They were, by and large, on the same side of things, but without Foggy’s easygoing chatter, or Claire’s warm exasperation, or even Ward’s sharp commentary, they’d found themselves unsure of where to start.

But people had been busy. Foggy had been buried for weeks under some major new case. With Luke Cage back in Harlem, Claire didn’t have all that much of her already very scarce free time to spare. 

Karen hadn’t seen Ward and Trish either since the day they’d been outed by the Bulletin. She couldn’t really begrudge them for that, now they were ‘official’ they were keeping their heads down, Karen supposed, and they didn’t exactly need to hang out with the rest of them to justify hanging out with each other any more.

That wasn’t to say she hadn’t ‘seen’ them at all – a few spottings here and there, at restaurants, walking down the street – and Karen had discretely dumped every single sighting the Bulletin had been sent. 

Finally, though, Karen had been able to find some free time, and miraculously, so had Misty, so here they were in Talbots, sharing two pitchers between just them.

“Have you seen Claire at all?” Karen asked. Misty shook her head.

“Nope – even Colleen said she hasn’t seen her in weeks,” Misty said. “I think I’ve seen _Luke_ more than Claire, and I’ve barely seen him since he got back.”

Karen gave her a little sympathetic smile, not failing to notice the ever so slightly sharp tone to Misty’s voice. Misty had never said anything outright about her own history with Luke Cage, but Karen had pretty much put the pieces together on that front.

“How is … all of that?” Karen gestured a little vaguely, aware that she didn’t really know the finer details of Misty’s ongoing investigation into Mariah Dillard, nor was she really supposed to know anything about it.

Misty gave a little bitter laugh.

“Not great,” she said. “You ever feel like you’re staring at all the pieces, and you know they mean something, but there’s no way you’re going to be able to string them together that people will actually _listen_ to?”

Karen nodded empathetically.

“Oh I’ve been there,” she said. “This city...” she started, and found herself just laughing a bit, “well, you know better than I do.”

Misty took a drink.

“Oh yeah,” she said.

Karen pushed some hair back behind her ear, not sure she should say what she was about to.

“Sometimes it feels like if we didn’t have all these vigilantes running around, nobody would notice anything was wrong at all,” she said.

Misty considered that.

“You ever think that it’ll make people even more blind?” She asked.

Karen raised a brow.

“What will?”

“Thinking Daredevil’s out there fighting crime, or Luke Cage is out there protecting Harlem,” Misty said. “As long as we’ve got our heroes in New York, crime’s being taken care of. Like the damn _Avengers_ , sure – people freak out that there’s real, actual other world threats – but it’s ok, because Captain America will take care of it.”

Karen chewed that over, and exhaled.

“Heavy stuff, Misty,” she said, smiling.

Misty laughed.

“Sorry – it’s uh… been a long day. A long month really.”

Karen shook her head.

“No … I actually missed talking about stuff like this,” she said. “With people who actually understand it, I mean. Journalists _love_ talking about this. That’s a 1,500 word editorial right there.”

“I’ve missed this,” Misty gestured to the booth. “I don’t think I realised how much you guys were keeping me sane.”

“Me too,” Karen agreed. 

Misty held up her glass to cheers.

“To a crime free day at the Bulletin,” she said. Karen clinked her glass to Misty’s.

“Cheers to that,” she said.

They knocked back their drinks, and Misty winced at the rush of rum.

“Ok, well,” Misty reached out and held up the pitcher, half empty now, “just one and a half to go. You up for it, Page?”

“Always,” Karen said, holding out her empty glass expectantly.

–

Trish was holding a potted rosemary plant out in front of her with a bright smile, which caught Ward off guard, just for a moment, before he noticed the fresh looking red bruising over her right eye – a nasty scrape across her brow.

“I brought you a gift,” she greeted, pressing it into Ward’s hand, “I called him Chester. Try not to kill him.”

Trish had obviously been caught in the sudden downpour outside – her hair was sodden, her jacket soaked through – she reached up and dragged a lock of wet hair across her face, covering her bruised eye just a little.

The poor rosemary plant had clearly taken a beating in the rain too – it looked drowned. Ward stared at it for a moment.

“Ah, the burden of responsibility,” he said, “that’s my go-to gift too.”

Trish shot him a little wry smile. 

“Well, I thought maybe it might make your apartment look a little like you actually _live_ in it,” she said, stepping in the door and swinging up on to the balls of her feet to press a kiss to his lips.

He brushed the lock of wet hair back behind her ear, a concerned frown clouding across his features as his eyes flicked to the scrape across her brow.

“Bad sparring session,” Trish said, smiling, “it looks worse than it feels.”

He pushed the door closed behind her, and wandered through into his apartment, holding the plant out in front of him like he had no idea what to do with it, which he didn’t.

Behind him Trish peeled her wet jacket off and tried to straighten her hair a little.

Ward hovered for a moment, considering where to put his new gift – his apartment was very much the kind of place you saw in brochures – clean, white, and practically devoid of any signs that an actual person lived there save for just a few small framed pictures here and there.

What it did have, that Trish was immediately appreciative of, was a fireplace. She flocked over to it dropping down on to the rug next to take in the warmth.

Ward settled for resting Chester on the mantle beside a picture of Joy, smiling in front of her cake at her fourteenth birthday party. 

“See?” Trish grinned up at him, “feels more homely already.”

Ward gave a little scoff.

“So, forgot your umbrella?” He asked.

Trish sighed.

“It’s on my desk,” she pulled a face, “which I realised when I decided to walk the last three blocks and nearly drowned.”

He laughed.

“You uh, need a towel?”

She nodded. 

As he headed off to find one, Trish found her eyes trailing across to Ward’s coffee table, where she saw, to her surprise, a half finished glass of bourbon.

Without a moments hesitation, she got to her feet, snatching it back up off the table and walking through to the kitchen, taking it to the sink and upending it down the drain.

Ward cleared his throat from the doorway, holding a towel in one hand. His eyes flicked to the glass, then to her, and the sink.

Trish rested the empty glass down, avoiding his eyes for a moment. When she returned her gaze to his, she took in his wary expression and drawn brows. 

He didn’t look guilty, but he did look concerned.

Before she had a chance to speak he jumped in.

“It wasn’t mine,” he said firmly.

Trish didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t sound like he was lying, but, even if he was – was it her place to say anything? She’d poured the drink out without even thinking about it – she hadn’t even asked him first, and it struck her now that she should have. Just doing what she had done seemed accusatory.

“Danny was here,” Ward started to explain, hanging in the doorway still, seemingly unwilling to move closer, “he’s… having a bad day.”

Trish rested back a little against the counter, a sudden spur of questions filling her head. She crossed her arms.

“I didn’t realise you had …” she started to say, but cut herself off. 

Whatever it was she wanted to say, a little nagging voice kept interrupting in the back of her head. It wasn’t like she was talking to Jessica – and it wasn’t dealing with herself either - she didn’t have the same rights in this conversation. This was precisely why she’d avoided broaching this topic. 

Ward seemed to notice her internal struggle, because he took a tentative step forward, holding out the towel for her to take.

“I believe you,” she said firmly, locking her eyes on his as she took the towel from him. “I’m not keeping you in check.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Ward said. 

She exhaled a little.

“I’m sorry – I just,” she shook her head, unsure of how to explain herself. She was stuck, feeling a simultaneous pull between wanting to rip the band-aid off and just throw herself in – filled with concern and understanding of this exact moment in her own life – and a desperate, hopeless urge to just push it away and keep it as far away from their new little relationship as she could.

She wasn’t sure which one was the right option, but she suspected the answer to that was neither of them.

“I know,” Ward said, taking in her expression, “we don’t really talk about this.”

Trish distracted herself for a moment by towelling her hair dry, trying to put her thoughts into something like order.

The truth was that she’d never actually asked Ward how he felt about it, because what she’d been through, and where she was now, was so far from where he was, and if she were pretending to be selfless about it, she could say that was because she didn’t want him to get the false hope he’d eventually end up in the same place. If she was being honest about it, though?

“Do you… want to talk about it?” She asked gently. 

Ward leaned on the kitchen island across from her, a little smile creeping back onto his face.

“Honestly? No,” he said. 

“I mean,” he clarified, “we can if you want to – it turns out I’ll talk about pretty much anything _you_ want to, but if you’re asking if _I_ want to, then no, I don’t.”

Trish let out a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding.

Ward ran a hand through his hair.

“We’ve, uh, we’ve got a lot of things in common, most of them pretty bad,” he said, “some of them less bad, but I don’t want this,” he gestured to the glass on the side, “to mess up… you know, this,” he gestured between the two of them.

Trish gave him a grateful, but bittersweet sort of smile.

“I think we might have to accept it’s going to come up,” she said.

Ward considered that.

“Probably,” he said.

His eyes trailed to the glass, and then after a moment, he turned, and produced a rather ornate, expensive looking, empty bottle of bourbon from the cupboard beside him, and set it down on the counter next to the sink.

“My father bought me this when I turned twenty one,” he said, something sour in his voice, “I got rid of everything else, except that.”

“I thought it wouldn’t matter much, but … turns out it’s like having a fire in the corner of the room and just trying to carry on like everything’s fine.”

Trish nodded, knowing entirely what he meant by that.

“I told Danny to finish it,” he said.

Trish reached out, turning the bottle round in her hands and admiring the finely cut glass. It certainly looked pricey.

“I think it’s going to be a while before I’m ok with it,” he said.

She nodded.

“I guess it comes down to trust,” she said. “I trust myself. It took me a long time to get there, but, I do.”

She rested the bottle down, noticing Ward watching her, something sad creeping into his expression. 

She reached out for him instead, going for his hand.

“Now I’ve just got to work on the trusting other people as much bit,” she said.

That made Ward’s smile come back. 

“Well, I don’t know about that. Other people are terrible,” he said, letting her take his hand and turning her fingers over in his. His eyes traced over her reddened knuckles again. She tugged him a little closer.

“Only most of them,” she agreed.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but was holding back, chewing over the words.

“What is it?” She asked, drawing his gaze to hers.

“I know you’ve been getting a lot of hassle from this,” he said, “I’m sorry.”

She laughed.

“They hardly need an excuse to drag up my history,” she said. “That’s the fun thing about having your life on public record. Nobody ever forgets anything you do, not really.”

Ward nodded in agreement.

“And they’ll remind you whenever they can,” he said with a weary familiarity.

She leant forward, leaning her head against his chest. He circled an arm about her shoulder and rested his chin against the top of her head.

“You’ve not been googling me have you?” She murmured into his shirt.

Ward laughed.

“I have this company to run,” he said, “keeps me kind of busy.”

She looked up at him, smiling. Ward reached forward to brush some strands of her hair out of her eyes, and his fingers lingered for a moment at the bruising on her brow.

“So, was this a planned sparring session or more of a helping Jessica fight crime sort of sparring session?” He asked as lightly as he could. Trish exhaled.

“Ward,” she started, “it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

That elicited a little smirk from him.

“I know,” he said, “I think you can probably handle yourself better than most MMA fighters, and I’m not naive enough to think that any of us can stay out of trouble, it’s just...”

He hesitated, fumbling for the right way to say what he wanted to.

“I think it goes without saying that you’re a better person than I am,” he said, looking at her firmly, “but the people in this City, the … things, here, don’t fight fair.” 

She gave him a flat look – as if he were stating the obvious - which to be fair, he was.

“They have guns, lots of them,” he added, “or are immortal ninjas.”

“Ward...” she gave him a little, exasperated look.

He reached for her, resting his hand on her cheek, and sighed. 

“I have a lot of feelings about you,” he said, “just, let me do the Love Interest thing and tell you to be safe, just once, then I’m done.” 

She couldn't help but smile.

“Alright. Fair enough,” she said. 

He smiled back, and stepped in, pressing her gently, but firmly, back against the counter and kissing her.

She kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, then broke off, grinning.

“Hey Ward,” she said.

“Mmm?” he kissed her neck.

“I have a lot of feelings about you too,” she said.

He broke into a laugh, completely out of any decent response. So instead he scooped her up, lifting her up onto the counter and kissing her again.

–

 _’Alright guys, me and The Detective are 3 pitchers down and we’ve decided SA need to meet up yesterday. Times. Places. Ideas.’_ Karen’s message was accompanied by a picture of three empty pitchers as proof, and a happy looking Karen Page and Misty Knight. 

_’This is a surprisingly coherent message for three pitchers, Karen.’_ Foggy replied.

 _’Took me about three minutes to write.’_ Karen said, throwing out a cocktail emoji.

 _’Lets order Pizza.’_ Claire jumped in almost immediately. _‘I know the best place in New York.’_

 _‘FIGHTING WORDS.’_ Misty replied.

 _‘Pizza Off. Two Pizzas enter, one Pizza leaves.’_ Foggy said, with an excessive number of pizza emojis.

 _‘YES.’_ Claire replied immediately.

 _‘I vote Ward’s #youknowhesgotapersonalpizzaoven’_ , Foggy said.

 _‘Sure. Tomorrow?’_ Ward replied.

 _‘Seriously?!'_ Foggy jumped in.

 _‘Nobody has a personal pizza oven though.’_ Ward added.

 _‘Can I bring a new recruit?’_ Trish asked.

 _‘We do need a new Wildcard now that Ward’s upgraded to Love Interest’_ Foggy chimed in.

 _‘don’t know, have you done a background check?’_ Misty asked.

 _‘Well not personally – but I can vouch for him?_ Trish replied.

 _‘I was kidding but I forgot you live in a vault.’_ Misty said.

 _‘I defer to our fearless leader. It is her group. Claire?’_ Foggy suggested.

 _‘Who’s the new recruit?’_ Claire asked. Then, before Trish had a chance to finish her response. _‘Wait is this Jessica’s assistant? Malcolm?’_

 _‘Do you actually know everyone?!’_ Trish replied.

 _‘If they’ve punched or have been punched by a ninja then yes. Probably.’_ Claire said.

–

“So ... this is like a support group for sidekicks of superheroes?” Malcolm Ducasse asked, grabbing a slice of pizza from one of the small mountain of boxes now gathered on Ward’s coffee table.

“We’re the group adjacent to the group of superheroes,” Trish said, firmly.

“What’s even the right word for that? Like the… collective term,” Malcolm asked, “you know, like, flock of seagulls.”

“...and I raaaan...” Claire sang quietly, swaying a little in her spot on the floor before taking another healthy bite.

“You mean the collective noun?” Karen asked, brow raised.

“Asking the important questions,” Foggy pointed a finger to him, “I like it. He can stay,” he said to Trish, who laughed.

“Maybe a squad?” Karen posited.

“A league,” Misty suggested.

“A league of superheroes,” Claire echoed, “that sounds pretty good.”

“Ok,” Foggy jumped in, “and I’m as big a supporter of our friends as anyone, but I’m not sure they’re really a team of superheroes so much as a ...” he looked for the right words “loosely connected handful of vigilantes protecting a – lets face it – not huge amount of New York.”

Karen laughed.

They’d ordered from no less than four different pizza places, and Malcolm had barely had time to be introduced to everyone before he was wrangled into playing judge for ‘The Best Pizza’ in New York - ‘newbie privilege’, Foggy had said.

Ward surveyed the state of his living room, filled with pizza boxes, coffee cups, and people, and shared a small, conspiratorial smile with Trish. She had been right. _Now_ it looked like someone’s actual home.

“I mean, Hell’s Kitchen is pretty well covered, and Luke’s the Hero of Harlem, and Danny...” Foggy looked to Ward.

“Does Danny have a turf?” He asked, unsure.

Ward shrugged a little.

“The kung fu dimension,” he said, “he’s supposed to protect that.”

Foggy raised a brow.

“I thought he just technically had to oppose the Hand wherever the Hand is?” Claire asked.

“Conveniently, New York,” Ward replied.

“So wait,” Foggy frowned, “he just has to fight the Hand – which is great – but does that mean that if it’s just run of the mill supervillainy he’ll just be like ‘nah, I’m good’?”

Trish burst into laughter. 

“Someone’s got to leave something for the actual law enforcement,” Misty supplied.

“True,” Trish agreed.

“A posse of vigilantes,” Malcolm suggested, then pulled a face, immediately not liking the sound of that. “Nope.”

“We should’ve organised this better,” Misty pointed to the pizza, “it’s not a fair competition if we didn’t all order the same thing.”

“Yeah but that’s just a whooole other thing,” Foggy shook his head, “then we’ve got to talk about pineapple on pizza.”

That almost immediately elicited cries of protest from the group, shouting over eachother.

“An actual crime,” Misty said, shaking her head.

“Totally wrong,” Claire agreed.

“What’s wrong with pineapple on a pizza?!” Trish raised her hands defensively.

“It’s fruit! You’ve got to admit that’s wrong,” Misty countered.

Malcolm tentatively spoke up.

“But tomato is a fruit,” he pointed out, almost nervous to say anything at all. “That’s on all the pizza.”

That gave the room pause for thought.

“Touché,” Misty admitted after a moment. 

Claire reached for another slice, and as she did, patted Malcolm on the shoulder proudly.

“Now that’s a voice of reason,” she said. “We’ve chosen our judge wisely.”

Malcolm gave her a little, bashful smile, and reached for another slice himself, the fourth and final contender.

Misty tried not to look too interested in his reaction, leaning back against the sofa and attempting a nonchalant expression. Beside her Karen giggled a little.

“You’re way too invested in this,” Karen whispered.

“I just like to win, Page,” Misty replied matter-of-factly.

Foggy looked equally anxious, leaning across the able and in towards Malcolm with an expectant expression.

“… you want an answer now?” Malcolm blinked.

“The anticipation is killing me,” Ward chimed in, bluntly.

Malcolm chewed over the options - literally - for a moment, considering the different boxes in front of him with a serious expression. Foggy tapped his fingers across the table top in a little drum roll, and Karen and Trish lent forward too, joining in until they’d made up quite the cacophony of drumming.

Malcolm hesitated, then pointed to the box that was second to the left, leading Misty and Foggy to let out simultaneous howls of disappointment, and Claire a triumphant “Yes!”

“Rigged!” Foggy cried, shaking his head.

“I told you it was the best pizza in New York,” Claire said smugly, taking a triumphant bite.

\--

Misty found herself, for the first time since she’d met him, in a room alone with Ward Meachum. He was busying himself with clearing glasses and one of the many, many pizza boxes, but he glanced up at her, clearly conscious of the fact that they were sharing an awkward silence.

Misty cut through it, clearing her throat.

“I want to ask you something,” she said. His eyes flicked up. “But I think it would be crossing a line ... but I also don’t know who else to ask.”

Ward raised a brow, pausing mid movement.

“Well now I’m curious,” he said. “Ask away.”

Misty took a breath, not because she was nervous, but because this particular thought had been burning away in the corner of her mind for weeks and weeks. Ever since the night Luke Cage got arrested, actually.

“Did getting revenge make things better?” She asked.

Ward watched her for a moment, a strange expression flickering across his features, then he looked away, focusing instead on picking up a glass.

“By revenge, are you talking about my father?” he said. 

Misty nodded. 

Ward chewed over his answer, and placed the glass in the sink. 

“Well, it certainly changed things,” he said, with a little bitter smile. 

Misty flinched, the reality of what she was actually asking him sinking in.

“I’m sorry, this wasn’t fair of me to ask,” she said.

“No,” he said, “I just don’t really know what kind of answer you’re looking for.” 

He took a seat across from her, and seemed to compose himself – no, more like he braced himself.

“It changed everything about my life,” he said, “but probably less then I thought it would. I still woke up the next day and drank coffee, ate breakfast… ” he hesitated, “I can’t pretend it didn’t make my life better, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’m not even sure what I’m asking,” Misty said, hesitating. She exhaled. “I guess, I’m asking … if it got rid of the anger. The guilt. If you felt like you’d … done right?”

She met his level gaze. 

“Danny would tell you I did right,” Ward replied, “but then, I’m not sure he’d exactly call it revenge, my father _was_ trying to kill him at the time.”

Then his tone turned a little more certain.

“Well, the people I care about are safer. The _world_ is safer without my father in it, and knowing you, I’m guessing whoever it is you’re wanting to take revenge against, that’d probably be true about them too.” 

Misty felt, in her gut, like that statement was true, but it didn’t make her happier to think so.

“It’s not as comforting as you’d hope, is it?” Ward asked, looking at her expression.

There was a moment of silence.

“That wasn’t the answer you wanted,” he said.

She gave him a small, tempered smile.

“I have no idea what answer I wanted, but, thanks for being honest, Ward,” she said, then added, “and.… sorry again for the inappropriate question.”

Ward kind of shrugged, leaning back in his seat.

“I mean, most people just get through awkward silences by talking about weather,” he said, “so, you know, thanks for not doing _that_.”

She laughed, and gestured over to the nearest window, where the heavy, nearly horizontal rain was streaking across the pane. 

“Oh sure, it is getting pretty bad though, I think I saw one of our delivery guys go past the window earlier,” she said.

“Think we should’ve tipped him more?” Ward replied.

–

“Well, this place is fancy as shit,” Jessica greeted, as she dropped down with a thud in a seat across from Trish and Ward. She wasn't wrong - this particular cafe where Trish and Ward were grabbing breakfast was particularly fancy, and quite discreet. She nodded her head to both of them.

“Trish. Wolf of Wall Street.” 

Ward raised a brow.

“It’s early,” Jessica said, “I don’t roll out my best material until at least noon.”

“Nice to see you again, Jessica.” Ward said, with a wry smile.

“Ready to go?” Jessica turned to Trish. Trish nodded, and moved to get up.

“Yeah, let me just settle up and we’re good to go,” she said.

Ward opened his mouth to object, but Trish pre-empted him, raising a hand.

“This one is on me,” Trish said, “you got coffee the last time.”

“That was three months ago,” Ward pointed out.

Trish waved a hand.

“And you’ll get it next time,” she said and grabbed her bag, jumping out of her seat.

Left alone for a moment, Jessica fixed Ward with an inscrutable look, then snatched up what was left of Trish’s coffee to take a sip.

“So, I met your friend Malcolm,” Ward said, to fill the silence.

“He said,” Jessica replied, “thanks for inviting him to your super secret club.”

Then after a beat, she added, “I’m surprised you made such a good impression on him.”

Ward’s wry smile grew a little wider.

“Thanks, Jessica,” he said.

There was another pause.

“So, you and Trish fighting more crime today, then?” He asked lightly, finishing up his own coffee.

Jessica must have picked up on something in his tone, because she shifted, looking suddenly defensive.

“We’ll see – why, going to warn me not to get her in trouble?” She asked, a little sharp.

Ward shook his head.

“I don’t think even you could stop her from getting into trouble if she wanted to,” he replied. 

“True,” Jessica said, “but just to be clear - I snapped the neck of the last guy who tried to hurt her.” 

Ward nodded.

“Well, that’s a terrifying thing to drop into casual conversation, but reassuring,” he said.

Jessica fixed him with a serious look, and pointed a finger.

“And just to be clear that warning also applies to you. We’re also covering the conversation about me killing you if you hurt her in any way,” Jessica said.

“That’s very economical of you,” Ward said, then added, “fair enough.”

“Good,” Jessica finished up Trish’s drink and rested it down.

“I’d tell you that Danny would try and avenge me, but honestly I can’t really see a version of that where you don’t end up killing him too,” Ward said.

Jessica smirked a little.

“Wow, you really are a bad sidekick,” she said.

“So I’ve been told,” Ward replied.

Trish returned to the table, bag slung over her shoulder, and reached for her jacket.

“Sorry about that - let’s go,” she said to Jessica, then she turned and leaned down, giving Ward a parting kiss on the lips.

“I’ll call you later,” she said with a little smile. He gave her a smile in return.

“Speak to you then,” he replied, then gave Jessica a little nod of the head.

“Always a pleasure,” he said. 

Jessica gave him a little wave back.

As she and Trish headed out of the cafe, Jessica gave Trish a light jab in the elbow.

“Public displays of affection and everything! You’re practically flaunting this,” she said.

Trish rolled her eyes.

“No, I’m not. I’m just … not letting a bunch of people online tell me what to do with my life. I’ll date who I want,” she said.

“Said every rebellious fifteen-year-old girl ever,” Jessica replied with a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Hopefully the next one will be much quicker' - the famous last words of everyone whose life is about to get far, far too busy.
> 
> We're facing down the home stretch - there will be a short epilogue to follow - so I wanted to take the chance to thank everyone for the kind comments and constructive feedback. It's been a really wonderful return to fic.


	6. Phone Numbers, Peking Duck, Presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen makes a call, Foggy catches up, and Trish and Ward take a walk.

“I’m glad we invited Trish,” Claire said as she stretched out her back, wriggling about in her seat, “but man, that woman is a _force_.”

Across the small glass table from her Misty was trying to get comfortable in her own chair – that kind of uncomfortable wicker deal you only get in tiny, rustic hipster coffee joints where none of the furniture matched.

Colleen had lucked out, getting both the shade from the sun and the chair that actually felt like someone could sit in it. She nodded in agreement.

“She certainly is,” she said, tilting her own neck from side to side to stretch.

“Poor Ward never stood a chance,” Misty said.

“Yeah, poor Ward,” Claire replied, teasingly.

“You know that was 90% her,” Misty replied with a shrug. “I like Ward but he has _not_ got enough game to bag Trish Walker. I think that’s a woman who just you know,” Misty made a little ‘forward’ gesture, “knows what she wants and gets it.”

Claire snorted.

“I was a little surprised he was her type,” Colleen spoke up tentatively.

“I think rich and cute is most people’s type,” Claire said wryly, then added with a grin, “right, Colleen?”

Colleen shot her a flat look back.

Claire, still grinning, shrugged.

“I guess neither of you have met Jessica,” she said. Misty raised a brow.

“You’d see it if you had,” Claire added.

“I suppose we could just ask the Trish herself,” Misty said, smiling as Trish approached, carrying a tray of drinks.

“Ok,” Trish began depositing the drinks in front of them, “just black coffee, iced latte, and your tea, Colleen.”

Colleen smiled appreciatively, taking her drink.

“Thanks for getting these,” Claire said, grabbing her iced latte.

“No problem,” Trish took her seat with a little shrug, “thanks for inviting me.” She left off the silent ‘this time’.

As she reached for her own coffee she let out a little hiss, catching her elbow against the side of the table.

“And thanks for this,” she added, gesturing to the fresh, angry looking scrape there.

“Sorry about that,” Colleen said, taking a sip.

“Don’t worry about it,” Trish smiled, “you kicked my ass fair and square.”

She inspected the scrape and added, a little subdued, “at least this time when Ward asks where I got it I’ll be telling the truth.”

Claire winced, checking out the latest addition to Trish’s collection, to match the scratch that was healing on her brow and the now yellowing bruising on her cheek.

“Jessica stuff?” Claire asked.

Trish nodded.

“Yeah. I mean, you never really _plan_ to end up punching a guy in the face, it just sort of happens,” she said.

The others gave a chorus of an understanding “yeah” - three women who knew exactly how you ended up accidentally punching a guy in the face.

\--

Karen had barely taken a seat at her desk before there was a knock at her door, and James from editorial, was sticking his head in.

“Karen!” He greeted her in his typically terse fashion, “I know I was supposed to get your draft back to you already – it’ll be on your desk this afternoon, that ok?”

Karen just nodded, head still running through the hundred or so things she needed to do and not appreciating the distraction.

“Oh, and your friend came by, the lawyer,” James continued. Karen’s heart momentarily skipped. She froze.

“The blonde guy,” James added, and Karen felt herself relax instantly, “he left a message. I put it with your mail.”

Karen gave him a quick, appreciative smile.

“Thanks.” It was enough to get him to leave.

She looked to her little pile of mail, usually ignored on the corner of her desk, to see a quickly scribbled post-it with Foggy’s distinct handwriting.

 _‘Nothing to worry about. Was just in the neighbourhood – dinner later? F x’_ it read.

Karen smiled a little to herself, slightly alarmed at how relieved she was that it had been Foggy. She couldn’t avoid talking to Matt forever, that much she knew, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be ambushed by anything Matt related just at this moment.

She screwed up the post-it, and turned to throw it away, but paused, spotting among her small pile of letters a postcard.

She pushed the envelopes out of the way, and stared at it for a moment. A simple scene. A street. Brooklyn.

Her momentary reprieve of relief was immediately replaced by a fresh wave of tension – not the same dread she’d felt just a moment before, this one was more like a sudden fluttering rush.

 _Butterflies_ , Karen thought to herself, ruefully.

She reached for the postcard, for a moment convincing herself it was old, and had just gotten lost at the bottom of the pile. But it wasn’t. The stamp was new. She turned it over.

There was something else new about this particular postcard, where all the others before had been completely blank, this one wasn’t. There, smack bang in the middle, was a phone number.

Karen stared at it for a moment, every single thing on her list of things to do just falling out of her head, all at once. 

She swallowed, and then grabbed the postcard, pushing it into her handbag.

–-

“So are we gonna do the reverse Bechdel test thing?” Foggy asked, depositing his blazer over the back of the chair. 

Ward looked back at him, uncomprehending.

“Beck-dell test?” He asked, straightening out his waistcoat as he took his seat.

“You know,” Foggy explained as he reached for his coffee, “like women do in movies, when they never talk about anything other than dudes? Except we meet up and just talk about the four awesome ladies we generally hang out with.”

“Well, last time there was Malcolm too,” Ward replied.

Foggy threw up a hand.

“Stop breaking the rules,” he said, firmly.

Ward looked even more bemused.

“Can you break rules you neither know of nor understand?” He asked.

That caught Foggy off-guard, and he opened his mouth to reply before pausing, considering that. 

“Legally?” He replied, his lawyer’s mind now reeling with possibilities.

“Besides,” Ward reached for his coffee, “you left out Colleen.”

Foggy clicked back in to the conversation.

“We hardly ever see Colleen, though,” he argued.

“I still count her,” Ward replied, matter-of-factly.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Foggy dragged the conversation back on track, “how’s Trish?”

Ward raised his brow.

“You saw her a week ago,” he said flatly.

Foggy sighed, exasperated.

“This is what people do when they _talk_ , dude,” he said.

That made Ward smile a little, enjoying more than a bit how much he was winding Foggy up.

“She’s good,” he said. “A former teen starlet got caught throwing up in a diner a few days ago, so she’s _really_ been enjoying talking about _that_.” 

Foggy pulled a face.

“Well that’s sad.”

“Yeah,” Ward agreed. “You know what’s sadder?”

Foggy shrugged.

“Dropping your ice cream on the floor?” He guessed.

“People would rather talk about that then the three lines of statins we recalled last week,” Ward replied. Foggy grimaced. Ward’s occasional reminders of what he actually did for a living tended to have that effect.

“I guess the complexities of good corporate governance are probably too much for most people to handle over breakfast,” Foggy suggested.

They both sipped their coffees in silence for a moment, Ward flipping through a copy of the Bulletin – which he’d committed to actually picking up occasionally now that he knew Karen Page – and Foggy pulling his folder of case files from his bag to get stuck in.

This wasn’t the first time they’d caught up for coffee when Foggy was taking a break, after all, he was working a few floors downstairs from Ward, at least for the time being. It would be rude not to. They’d settled quickly into a comfortable routine, Foggy got some peace and a chance to get a bit of extra work done, Ward got a chance to not get any work done.

Foggy was halfway through his coffee when he looked up at Ward, suddenly struck by something.

“Do you think we should do like, guy stuff, sometime?” He asked, adding - “go to the driving range?”

Ward flinched automatically at the thought, his hand immediately going to the back of his head.

“You know, I think we’re good,” he said.

–-

On his way out of the elevator, Foggy ran into two of his worlds colliding in the lobby – namely Jeri Hogarth shaking hands with Matt Murdock, clearly finishing a meeting. 

Foggy found himself instinctively grinning to see Matt – who smiled in his direction even before Foggy called his name, because of course he did.

“Ah, Mr Nelson,” Jeri greeted politely, “I was just getting to know your old partner in crime.”

Foggy ignored her businesslike tone to give Matt a hearty hug.

“I promise I’m not stalking you yet,” Matt said, giving his shoulders a firm pat.

“Was that Ward Meachum I saw you having coffee with earlier?” Jeri said, arching a brow.

“Oh,” Foggy pulled back from Matt, “yes.”

Jeri gave him a sharp look he couldn’t read in the slightest.

“I didn’t know you were friends,” she said.

“Ah, we have … mutual friends,” Foggy replied, feeling suddenly like he was being interrogated. It was a skill of Jeri’s.

“Hmm,” Jeri said, “yes, well you do have friends all over the place,” she turned her attention back to Matt.

“Thank you for your time,” Matt smiled politely, crossing his hands in front of him.

“And you yours,” she gave him a restrained smile in response, “best of luck.”

He smirked, just a little.

“I’ll need it,” he said, “mind if I borrow Mr Nelson for a minute?”

Jeri gave a little shrug of her shoulders.

“It’s a free country,” she replied, and turned to head in the elevator with a little nod of the head.

“What was that about?” Foggy asked as they wandered over to some empty plush chairs in the lobby.

“Just brokering a deal for some information,” Matt explained vaguely, “old case of hers, new case of mine.”

Talking about work was something Foggy and Matt did less and less of these days. Not least because half of the time they legally couldn’t.

“This a … Rand sort of case?” He asked, acutely aware of the building they were in.

“No,” Matt said with a little laugh, “but it is a Hogarth sort of case.”

Foggy noted the scratches on Matt’s knuckles, a healing split lip. Not out of the ordinary for Matt Murdock.

“I’m sorry I … haven’t been around much lately,” Matt started. Foggy shook his head.

“No, you don’t have to apologise,” Foggy said, “I’ve not exactly been a great friend either.”

Matt laughed.

“You’ve earned your good friend card for life, trust me,” he said.

He wasn’t sure why he blurted it out, but Foggy couldn’t help himself from saying, “I dropped by Karen’s office earlier.”

If Matt had a response to that, it was very carefully muted. He lent back in his chair, just a little.

“How is she?” He asked, his tone carrying a hint of regret.

“She wasn’t in, I left her a note,” Foggy said, “but I saw her last week. She seems good. Better.”

“Better?” Matt asked, brow raising just a little.

Foggy hadn’t really meant to say that, because saying that suggested Karen hadn’t been so good before, and that meant opening the can of worms that was _why_ Karen hadn’t been so good before, and that wasn’t even really his can of worms to open, so to speak.

“Yeah,” Foggy covered over quickly, “I’ve been trying to read more of her articles. I think she’s really starting to find her thing, y’know?”

Matt knew when he was being fobbed off, and Foggy could see it in his face. He was good at masking a multitude of thoughts behind that quiet, confident smile.

“I haven’t seen her in months,” Matt said.

“I know,” Foggy replied.

Matt ran his fingers over his lips, contemplative.

“Keep looking out for her,” Matt said.

Foggy nodded. He watched Matt for a moment.

“And you,” he said hesitantly, “should I be worrying about you right now?”

Matt shook his head.

“Not _right_ now,” he replied, diplomatically. Foggy laughed.

“Smart answer,” Foggy said.

\--

Karen, not quite ready for a one-on-one conversation with Foggy that would inevitably circle back round to the postcard that was practically burning a hole in her handbag, decided to throw the dinner invite to the whole group.

 _‘Quick brainstorm – where could we go for dinner where nobody would know us?’_ She asked.

 _‘We could book somewhere out but that seems pretty excessive?'_ Foggy replied.

 _‘Unless we know the owner. Gimme 20 mins. Got an idea.’_ Claire said.

–-

Which is how they found themselves in the top room of the newly established Genghis Connie’s 2.0, where Connie herself had explained to Karen with a not small amount of happiness about how next to no insurance can argue with settling out on a _rocket launcher attack_.

Karen was just appreciative she’d got them a nice big table upstairs, away from the other customers. It was the first time she’d been actually in a restaurant in months.

The other girls looked still fresh out of the Dojo – hair in messy buns, in sweats and tees. Claire greeted Karen with a warm hug.

“Sweats and Chinese food is the best kind of going out,” Claire said in greeting, “great thinking Karen.”

Karen laughed, giving the others a quick hug too.

“Thanks for sorting out the place, Claire,” she replied, “your network of contacts really _is_ impressive.”

“I consider it karmic retribution for all the insanity,” Claire said, and took her seat.

“I haven’t eaten since breakfast so I intend to order everything, just a heads up,” Misty said, snatching up a menu.

“How do you know this place?” Colleen asked.

“They were Luke’s landlords,” Claire explained, “until someone shot a rocket launcher at their restaurant.”

“That really happened?” Karen blinked. I mean, she’d heard Connie’s explanation, but it had still sounded too surreal to actually sink in until Claire said it too. 

Claire let out a little weary sigh.

“Yeah,” she said. 

Foggy arrived next, clearly straight out of the office and looking very sharp in his neat suit, and pulled Karen into a quick hug after he greeted the others.

“So you got my message,” he said.

She nodded.

“Yeah, hope you didn’t mind me throwing it out to the group?” She smiled. Foggy shrugged.

“No, I’m so completely down for this,” he said, “especially after today.”

“Stressful?” Karen asked lightly as he slid into his seat.

“Oh yeah,” he blew a lock that had fallen in front of his face out of the way, “and I saw Matt.”

Karen, for the second time that day, found herself freezing a little at that name. She knew Foggy still saw Matt pretty regularly, even though they weren’t Avocados at Law any more, but he also tended not to bring it up with her.

“How is he?” She asked, hoping she sounded a little more relaxed about the topic than she felt.

Foggy pulled an unsure face.

“He’s still Matt,” he said, which was more than enough of an explanation, “he was asking after you.” 

Karen tucked her hair behind her ear, pushing down a little, unwelcome sigh.

“I hope he’s ok,” she said, and meant it.

Foggy nodded, briefly reaching out and giving Karen’s arm a little squeeze.

“Me too.”

Ward arrived not long after Foggy, clearly in full incognito, in that he was not only not wearing a suit but he _was_ wearing a leather jacket. 

“So everyone else got the Casual Friday memo, I guess,” Foggy said.

Ward made quick work of greeting everyone at the table, specifically stopping to give Colleen a quick hug, which she reciprocated a little awkwardly.

“Hey, Ward,” she greeted with a tentative smile. 

“Good to see you,” he replied, completely sincerely.

Trish had sprung out of her seat to greet him, and he stepped in to her, cupping her head in his hand and kissing her. A simple, but sweet, sort of kiss.

It was the most openly affectionate he’d ever been towards her in the other’s company, and even Trish looked surprised, straightening up a little, and pulling away from him with a slightly hazy gaze.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he replied, smiling.

Claire raised her brows, a grin creeping on to her face. Misty leaned in to her a little.

“See, now I kinda get it,” she said quietly.

As everyone settled in Claire laid her menu out in front of her and took a breath.

“Ok. I think we’re gonna need a whole lot of starters, and at least three bottles of their eight dollar wine.”

–-

“Ok, ok,” Misty was taking charge, tallying up the dishes on the receipt, “did we all have the dumplings?”

“We had three types of dumplings,” Claire said, finishing up a wonton.

“Did we all have all three types?” Misty frowned.

“Let’s just split it even,” Foggy sighed, “I hate bill math.”

“But Ward -” Colleen started, glancing over at the empty four or so bottles of wine at the end of the table

“I’m good,” Ward cut over, giving her a little smile, “even’s fine.”

Trish went to get her wallet when she saw her phone blinking away, and she pulled it out of her bag to see two missed calls from Jessica and felt her stomach drop a little. Missed calls were usually not good. Then again, she hadn’t just left a message...

 _‘sorry I missed ur call, at dinner. u ok?’_ Trish quickly pinged over.

 _‘No sweat. Just wanted your opinion on something but turns out Mal’s pretty good at this shit.’_ Jessica replied, then after a minute, added, _‘Besides I should’ve known you’d be out for your boy’s birthday. Give him a fist bump from me or something.’_

Trish frowned at her screen, mouthing a silent, confused ‘what’?’

She glanced up at Ward, thoroughly embroiled in the intricate process of divvying up the bill.

 _‘will do’_ , she replied to Jessica quickly.

“Wait, we ordered five rounds of peking duck?” Misty raised a brow. “Seriously?”

“How do you still have room to eat anything?” Foggy stared at Claire, who was still picking at the leftovers. “I feel like I ate the whole restaurant.”

“A nurse is always hungry,” she explained, shrugging.

–-

Trish laced her fingers with Ward’s as they wandered down the street, taking their time with what was sure to be a long, long walk home they’d inevitably give up part-way and get a taxi.

(Trish had suggested they take a walk, and had been surprised when he’d agreed to it. 

“Not worried we’re going to get caught up in _all_ the crime?” She’d asked.

“Nah,” he’d replied, “you’ll take care of it.”)

Trish waited until she could no longer hold it back.

“So, it’s your birthday?” She asked, as nonchalantly as she could.

Ward's eyes widened in alarm.

“I …” he looked a little confused.

“Jessica told me,” Trish said, which if anything, made his confused expression grow even more so.

“How does _she_ know it’s my birthday?” He asked.

Trish gave a little shrug.

“Well, she _is_ a private detective. She’s also really making me look bad, so,” Trish trailed off. “I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

He shook his head.

“No, don’t be,” he let go of her hand, “I didn’t say anything about it. Why would you know?”

Trish still felt embarrassed. She’d have to ask Jessica at a later date exactly how and why she had this information to hand.

“Why _didn’t_ you say anything?” She nudged him. “I mean, we definitely could’ve wrangled a free cake and you know it.”

He looked deeply, wholly embarrassed, raking his hand through his hair. 

He hesitated, starting his explanation but quickly pulling back, letting out a little exasperated laugh.

“There is no way to say this without it being the single cheesiest thing I’ve ever said,” he said.

“Consider me warned,” Trish replied, reaching back for his hand and lacing her fingers into his again. He stopped walking again and turned to her, taking her other hand, as if trying to compose himself a little.

“The thing is,” he started, “does it matter if anyone else knows? I was having dinner with you ... and everyone else …” 

His gave her a small, almost shy smile.

“Best birthday I’ve had since I was twelve-years-old,” he said.

Trish grinned, tugging him a little closer.

“That’s the cheesiest you can do?” She teased.

“That’s all you're getting,” he replied, unable to shake the smile.

She reached up to kiss him.

“Happy birthday,” she said. 

“Thank you,” he said, kissing her back.

“Oh!” Trish paused suddenly, letting go of him and raising her fist.

Ward looked at it, confused.

“It’s a fist-bump,” she said, “from Jessica.”

Ward rolled his eyes and reluctantly bumped her fist with his.

“Very generous,” he said.

\--

A few glasses of courage down and now left alone to her own devices in the safety of her apartment, Karen fished the postcard out of her bag and placed it on her kitchen counter. She considered it for only a moment before typing in the number and quickly hitting dial.

She’d done so without planning what she was going to say, and her heart raced as she waited for a few seconds for the call to connect. Instead, it went through to a voicemail.

Somehow, that was better. She trusted herself more to talk to a voicemail.

“Hey,” she greeted. “I think maybe you gave me this number for … I don’t really know why,” she took a little breath, “but … if you’ve been thinking about me as much as I’ve been trying not to think about you, then, this is my number.”

She recited her number carefully, and bit her lip, holding back from going any further. “Call me,” she said simply, and hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The preamble to my epilogue became an extra chapter in its own right, so uh... surprise quick update?


	7. Promises, Plans, Penthouses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sidekicks Anonymous get to safety.

Claire had realised something was wrong immediately, because for the first time since he’d returned from Seagate, Luke looked genuinely rattled. He looked downright off.

Claire carefully deposited her handbag and keys down on the side table, watching as he paced around her small apartment, gathering together a bag of things – jacket, phone, keys.

“Luke, what’s happened?” She asked.

Luke paused mid move – he hadn’t even noticed her arrive – and when he saw her he cleared the space between them, pulling Claire to him in a tight, crushing hug.

“Ok now I’m worried,” Claire said into his shoulder, pushing him back. “Luke.”

He looked over her features and gave her his familiar, bright smile.

“I have to go. You should get somewhere safe,” he said, still smiling, which was a little disconcerting.

“Luke,” Claire said more firmly. “What’s going on?”

Luke shook his head.

“This is going to sound corny, like the kind of thing someone would say in a film, but right now I don’t know what else to say,” he said. “The more I tell you the more unsafe you are. So, please just trust me. Everything is going to be ok.”

Claire wanted to slap him, he was being so frustrating, but instead she just let out a deep, deep sigh.

“Do I need to remind you about the whole saving your life bit? I know you’re bulletproof, Luke, but I’m not just going to sit around if you’re in danger...”

Luke nodded, a little woeful smile lingering on his features.

“Claire,” he said. “I know that this is pissing you off right now, but right now the best thing you can do for me is go, find somewhere safe with people you can trust.”

“I swear to god Luke, if you go out there and get yourself killed,” she raised a finger at him firmly, “I will find one of those Hand psychos, bring you back, and kick your ass myself.”

Luke nodded.

“I’d expect no less,” he said, and reached down to kiss her.

“I’ll be back,” he said.

She sighed.

“I get it. Be safe,” she replied.

As soon as Luke was out of the door, Claire rubbed her eyes wearily, and took a seat on the arm of her chair. She sat there for a moment, gripped with a familiar, miserable sensation of the world slowly but surely careening off its axis, with her in the passenger seat.

Then, she found her handbag and got her phone, and started typing a message to _‘Sidekicks Anonymous or Whatever’_.

–

Trish was watching her vending machine coffee pour out with a miserable expression, readying herself for what was sure to be a very disappointing coffee, when her phone rang.

“Trish, where are you right now?” Jessica asked in an unusual, hurried tone. 

Trish stopped paying attention to the vending machine immediately.

“I’m at the studio. What’s happening?”

Jessica let out a loud, audible sigh.

“Shit is going down, Bad shit. Soon,” she explained curtly.

“Where are you? I can leave now-” Trish started, but was cut off abruptly by a voice she didn’t recognise.

“That’s a bad idea – she’s high profile. You got a safe house or something she could go to?” the voice asked.

Jessica let out a much shorter, frustrated sigh.

“Who has a safe house, Danny? Oh god, you do, don’t you?” Jessica deadpanned.

“Am I on speakerphone?” Trish asked.

There was a pause.

“I’m multitasking,” Jessica replied.

“Hi Trish, nice to meet you!” The other voice – almost certainly Danny Rand – chimed in brightly.

“Introductions later, Danny,” Jessica said.

“Jess,” Trish said firmly, trying to pull her attention back, “what do you need me to do?”

Trish’s coffee was ready, but Trish had long forgotten about it.

There was a long pause before Jessica replied in a resigned tone.

“I hate to say it, but I … agree with Danny. You need to stay out of this, you’re way too recognisable,” Jessica said.

Danny jumped in in the background, “exactly!”

Trish could practically hear Jessica glaring at Danny.

“You should find that five-thousand dollar haircut you call a boyfriend and bunker down somewhere safe, at least for now,” Jessica said.

Trish bit down on her lip, clamping down on her uneasy, swirling stomach.

“Ward’s got goons, right?” Jessica asked.

“He did sick some guys on me after I broke into Joy’s house,” Danny replied.

“Nice,” Jessica said, with what sounded like genuine appreciation.

Trish took a deep breath.

“What about you?” She asked. 

“Me?” Jessica replied in a faux chipper tone, “I’ve got three professional meat shields backing me up. I’ll be fine.” 

“Jessica,” Trish said, “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Jessica replied. “I’ll call.”

Then she hung up.

Trish let the phone slide from her ear after a moment, took a second to compose herself, then got ready to ring Ward. But as she went to call him she saw a new message on _‘Sidekicks Anonymous or Whatever’_.

It was from Claire.

_‘Turns out being superhero adjacent is pretty dangerous. Anyone else need somewhere safe to hide out tonight?’_

–

Karen was about half a block from her place when she pulled her keys out of her bag – a habit of nearly any woman who lived alone, walking down a quiet street, whatever time of day.

She was turning them round in her hand when she heard a familiar tune, emanating from a nearby car, the bass humming through the pavement beneath her feet.

She’d heard this song a few times since that night, months ago, when it had become forever embedded in her head as a warning, and every time, she’d been stopped in her tracks whatever she’d been doing.

This time was no different, in that she stopped mid stride, stock still on the pavement, staring at the car pulled up to the side of the street a few yards away.

Of the driver she could only see a hand hanging out the driver’s seat window, fingers tapping against the side door to the music.

She took a little breath. It was just a song, of course, and she’d get used to just hearing it around eventually. 

She bit down on her lip, and took a few tentative steps forward, planning to just casually glance into the car as she passed. The driver’s head was lolled back, a simple cap pulled down over his eyes, concealing much of his face.

Not enough, of course, that Karen didn’t know exactly who it was.

Frank hadn’t returned her message in the week or so that had passed since she’d left it. She’d been trying, quite hard, not to think about that.

‘ _no matter who you are..._ ’ 

The radio was blaring away. This would be a cruel way to announce his presence, Karen knew, which meant that wasn’t why he’d done it. Like the last time, it was a warning.

She hovered for only a moment before stepping around the car and reaching for the door handle, opening the side door and sliding into the passenger seat.

When she was safely in the car, Frank put it into gear, and knocked the brim of his cap up to give her a quick glance over – checking to see she was unharmed. His eyes met hers briefly, and she felt that same, reeling tension in her stomach, fluttering up. 

He looked relieved, but he said nothing, turning his focus instead to the road.

He was completely silent until they were at least two blocks away, which was more than enough time for Karen’s mind to fill with dread and worry about what, exactly, it was he seemed so focused on getting her away from. He pulled the car over, turned the engine off, and took a breath.

She had a lot to say, but she settled on the most immediate problem.

“Am I in danger?” She asked.

He turned to her, and seemed to be considering his explanation.

“Yeah,” he said, “Red …” he laughed, just a little, “he’s really pissed some people off this time.”

Karen didn’t know what feeling was stronger – her sudden wave of concern, and fear, for Matt, or the accompanying sense of anger that she was back here, once again, because of him.

“So he told you to come rescue me?” She asked sharply, her tone far more bitter than she’d intended, unable to hide the whirlwind of fury and rejection that was welling up insider her.

 _Your life is in danger, but you’re angry he didn’t call you back, Karen?_ The little voice in the back of her head scolded her. _What did you expect?_

“No,” Frank replied bluntly.

Karen ran a hand through her hair, letting out a frustrated sigh.

“I thought...” she started, wanting to say so much. She wanted to demand an explanation, she wanted this situation to start making sense, to have some answers, but more than that, she wanted to scream at Frank for doing this to her again. Stepping back into her life, and throwing her whole, precarious world off balance.

She didn’t know how to finish her sentence, so instead she just buried her head in her hands, and tried to pull her head together.

Frank didn’t say anything. He let her recompose herself for a moment in silence as he surveyed the street around them.

She took a breath, and straightened up in her seat, pulling herself back.

“Ok,” she said firmly, “so what’s the plan?”

Frank smiled – a small, appreciative smile – as he looked at her resolute expression. 

“I’ve got somewhere,” he said, “not glamorous, but it’ll work.”

Karen nodded.

“Were they at my apartment?” She asked.

“Two,” Frank said.

Karen’s mind reeled, thinking about what was there – any signs, any obvious links to her friends. She checked her handbag, making sure her phone was there, intact, and gave a little sigh of relief that it was. 

“So… you want to get me in hiding?” She asked.

Frank gave a little nod.

Karen shook her head.

“If they’re coming after me then we can find out who-” she started, her mind already whirring away with a plan, but Frank cut her off abruptly.

“We’re not using you as bait,” he said firmly.

Karen gave him a sharp look.

“You can’t ask me to just sit around all night waiting to get attacked, Frank,” she said.

He let out a little laugh.

“You wont,” he said, turning his head to her, and flicking his eyes over her in a way that made her stomach lilt.

She took a breath.

“I knew you wouldn’t like it,” Frank said, something almost teasing creeping into his voice, “you’re no good at sitting on your hands.”

Karen crossed her arms.

“I’ve been here before,” she said.

“I know,” Frank replied, “ _we’ve_ been here before.”

Karen swallowed.

“And you’re ok with this? Just … keeping me safe? That’s it?” She asked. This was a dangerous path to tread, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Yeah,” Frank said, “this isn’t my fight, and it’s not yours either.”

That wasn’t true. Karen felt it in her gut, a pang of concern, and deep worry, for Matt Murdock. For Foggy Nelson.

“They gotta prove that,” Frank added. “That you’re not leverage. Not collateral.”

Karen closed her eyes, letting her head loll back in her seat for a second.

“Is that what you’d do? Just run and hide?” She asked quietly, sure already that the answer was ‘no’.

But Frank surprised her.

“To keep you safe,” he said, all the teasing disappearing from his voice, “I already did.”

She opened her eyes, watching him avoiding looking at her, tapping his finger on the steering wheel with that familiar, anxious energy.

“What changed?” She asked, thinking about the postcard, about the number, and her message.

“You’re still not safe,” he said, then hesitated, “and...”

She lent forward in her seat, waiting for him to finish that sentence.

“… what’s the point of keeping you safe from me, if I can’t keep you safe from anything else?”

-

“Matt,” Foggy repeated, trying to drag his friends attention back to him, “ _Matt_ , what do I need to do?”

On the other end of the line Matt let out a little hiss of pain. 

“Matt,” Foggy barked.

“You can’t do anything for me right now, and I don’t want you to,” Matt replied. Whatever state he was in, it didn’t sound good.

Foggy took a deep breath. He’d found himself, involuntarily, crouched in the corner of his office, on the floor, waiting to hear something that didn’t sound like his best friend doing something incredibly stupid like stitching up his own chest.

“Matt,” Foggy took a breath, “you need help.”

“I have help,” Matt replied, “well, help is on the way. I called you because I think they’re coming after you. Everyone we care about. Our connections.”

Foggy pushed his hair out of his face and rubbed his temples, trying to think.

“I’ll call Karen,” he said. Matt gave a little, pained laugh on the other end of the line.

“Karen’s safe,” he said. “She’s probably the safest person in New York right now.”

Foggy closed his eyes.

“Frank?” He asked.

Matt was quiet for a moment.

“Well, he does have a track record of keeping Karen alive, Foggy,” he replied.

That was almost enough to make Foggy smile. Almost.

“I guess we’d better hope that whoever’s coming after us is stupid enough to go after Karen first then,” Foggy said. “That’ll make things easier.”

Matt went quiet for a moment.

“Maybe,” he said. “Do you have somewhere you can stay?” 

“Yeah,” Foggy said, hoping he sounded convincing.

“Good,” Matt replied. “Help’s here. Better go.”

“Matt,” Foggy found himself entirely unable of finding the right words to finish his sentence, there was altogether too much to say, “I’ll speak to you later.”

“Yeah,” Matt let out another little laugh, “you will.”

Foggy took a moment, then pushed himself back up out of the corner and grabbed his jacket and suitcase, heading for the elevator, and Ward Meachum’s office. 

–

 _‘Sounds like we got the same message. I think the whole squad is out tonight.’_ Trish replied to Claire's message.

Claire started typing a few times, before settling on a simple _‘Yeah. We need to find a safe house.’_

 _‘I vote Ward’s. #youknowhesgotbodyguards’_ Foggy said.

 _‘Jokes, now, really?’_ Trish replied.

 _‘We all have our coping methods.’_ Foggy said.

 _‘What about everyone else? Karen? Misty?’_ Claire asked.

 _‘Karen’s safe. Haven’t heard from Misty.’_ Foggy replied.

 _‘Got somewhere. I’ll send instructions. Anyone spoken to Colleen?’_ Ward said.

After a moment, he added.  
_‘I can’t reach Danny.’_

_‘He’s with Jessica. He’s ok.’_ Trish replied. 

_‘I’ll try and reach the others. Where do we go, Ward?’_ Claire asked.

–

Claire slumped her quickly thrown together bag of belongings down on the floor, taking in the glossy penthouse around her with slightly wide eyes. It looked, if it were possible, even nicer, and even less lived in, then Ward’s actual apartment.

“Wow, we lay into Trish for having that vault door and Ward has this whole secret safe house?” Claire raised a brow. “Those two are kind of made for each other.” 

Foggy, looking a little rumbled and fresh out of the office, let out a little laugh beside her.

“Lifestyles of the rich and the famous, huh?” He said.

Ward was on the phone, one hand hastily undoing his tie as he paced past them and throwing it over a nearby chair.

“What’s he doing?” Claire asked, watching Ward stalk over to the kitchen area with purpose, issuing clipped orders over the line to someone at such speed that she was struggling to keep up.

“Planning. He’s been like this since we left the office,” Foggy whispered over to Claire, “Business Ward is kind of … intense.”

Claire watched as Ward made some quick notes, nodding to whoever was on the other end of the line.

“It’s kind of comforting, actually,” she said, “almost feels like there’s a plan.”

Foggy nodded in agreement.

“You holding up ok?” He asked. Claire gave a world weary shrug.

“Yeah,” she said, “I’m ok… I just… what do we do now?”

Foggy shook his head, no further along with that particular question than she was.

“I mean, usually I’d say open a bottle of scotch but uh...” he looked around the penthouse, “maybe that’s not such a good idea.”

Claire considered that.

“You think he’s got coffee?”

“Everyone has coffee,” Foggy replied, “it’s New York.”

Foggy set off towards the kitchen area, and Ward, finally off the phone, sorted through a few notes as he wandered back over to Claire. 

“So...” Claire leaned against the side of the sofa as he approached, “I like your safe house. The lilies really liven the place up.”

She gestured to the coffee table, which did indeed, have what appeared to be a fresh vase of flowers on it. Ward looked up and then over to them, and gave a little appreciative nod.

“Well, it’s the little things that really create the illusion of safety,” he replied.

“Does Trish know about this place?” Claire asked.

“Nobody does,” he admitted, gesturing for her to take a seat. “Well, nobody did. Until now.”

Claire watched him quietly as she sat down. He still had that same intense, focused energy about him that he’d had since she’d arrived, like someone who’d had altogether too many coffees already.

“After everything that happened, I figured that as long as I was part of Danny’s life, this is the kind of thing I have to think about,” he explained, running a hand through his hair.

“Makes sense,” Claire agreed. 

“I guess you could call it one of the very few good things I got out of dealing with my father,” he said, shooting her a little sombre smile.

Claire looked about the room uneasily.

“This isn’t… where he...” she tried to ask without asking.

Ward shook his head. He took a seat next to her.

“No, but my father hid for more than a decade in a penthouse that was much nicer than this one,” he said, “and I … thought he had everything worked out.” 

Claire waited for him to elaborate, gesturing for him to go on. Ward was turning over the handful of notes in his hands.

“He didn’t,” Ward said, “he made a lot of mistakes but… when it all started I was just a teenager, so I was stupid. I had Joy to think about, and the company … and then suddenly my dad isn’t dead anymore...” he trailed off, something far off creeping into his expression, “I believed it when he said he had everything under control. I did for a long time.”

He took a breath, finally seeming to shed some of that nervous energy as he leaned back into the sofa.

“I got it eventually, though. He survived because The Hand allowed him to, but they were always in control,” he said, “he was only ever really in control of me.”

Claire winced, reaching out and patting his knee.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Ward shook his head.

“This isn’t about re-treading the shit that’s happened to me,” he said, forcing himself to smile, “it’s about turning it into....” 

“Something useful?” Claire asked.

Ward nodded.

“Yeah,” he looked at her, his smile turning genuine, “which is probably another thing I have to thank you for.”

Claire frowned.

“Thank me? Why?”

He gestured around.

“All of this,” he said, “you turned the shit that happened to you into this group of people.”

Claire shook her head.

“I don’t know about that, I think I just wanted some people to get drunk with,” she said, trying to brush if off. Ward lent forward in his seat to rest the handful of notes on the coffee table.

“Claire, I still don’t know why you messaged me that first night but...” he gave a little, embarrassed sort of shrug and settled back into the sofa, “I’m glad you did.”

Claire smiled.

“Oh, don’t go all soft-eyes on me now Meachum,” she nudged him, “you’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

Ward laughed.

“Besides,” Claire added, “I didn’t actually invite Trish that night – Karen brought her – so I can’t take credit for _all_ of your awesome new life.”

She lent into him, letting herself rest against his shoulder, and Ward automatically circled an arm around her, giving her a small, comforting hug.

“Just most of it,” she said.

Foggy returned from the kitchen area holding out a pair of coffees, and took in the pair on the sofa before letting out a little ‘aww’. Ward pulled his arm away self consciously, but Claire grabbed it and pulled it back with a stubborn expression. 

“We’re doing hugs? Can I get one of those?” Foggy asked.

“I’ll swap one for a coffee,” Claire replied.

“Deal,” Foggy held out the coffee, and received his hug, as promised. He had his phone tucked under one arm.

“Still can’t reach Misty?” Ward asked.

Foggy shook his head, then handed Ward the other cup.

“Or Karen,” he sighed, “or Colleen. Or Malcolm.”

Claire sighed deeply and took a sip of her coffee.

Ward rounded off the trifecta of sighs, running his hand through his hair.

“So this sucks,” Foggy said.

“Yeah,” Ward replied. “It does.”

Foggy took a very deep breath, and looked around the rather well appointed penthouse.

“Well, at least we get to freak out in somewhere with a television the size of Canada,” he said.

Ward smirked.

“What, your safehouse doesn’t have a flatscreen?” he said.

“Well, at least you’ve got jokes,” Foggy smiled.

There was a sudden buzzing sound, and Ward sprung to his feet, nearly throwing his coffee across the room in alarm.

Claire reached up, grabbing it out of his hand instinctively.

“Trish?” She asked.

“I hope so,” Ward replied, snatching up the notes from the table and heading for the door.

Claire quickly deposited the coffees on the table, and gathered behind Ward, as did Foggy, who was looking deeply nervous.

Ward’s secure door wasn’t quite as high tech as Trish’s, but still required just as many intricate code entries to open.

Ward looked relieved as he hurriedly punched in the codes.

“I’m guessing its her,” Foggy whispered to Claire, who nodded.

There were also three doors for Trish to get through – the security in the lobby, the elevator behind one set of codes, and then the third to the penthouse itself. 

She cleared through the third door and into the penthouse with purpose, throwing her bag onto the ground and her arms around Ward’s shoulders, pulling him to her and into a firm embrace.

He wrapped her in his arms just as tightly, letting out an audible sigh of relief and closing his eyes.

“I hate this,” she murmured into his shoulder after a moment. “I feel useless.”

“I know,” he said, pulling her even tighter. 

“...your security is pretty decent though,” she said, in a tiny, stubborn voice.

He pulled back, pushing her hair away from her face and taking in her miserable expression.

“I hope so,” he said, and kissed her.

–

Misty hadn’t been back to Harlem’s Paradise since the day after Luke got released from Seagate, and this particular night the place was heaving. There was a tiny, hungry part of her that had missed doing this. There was another part of her that was already regretting her decision to come back as she pushed her way through the crowd.

She stalked over to the bar and took a seat, but she’d barely been there for long enough to make an order when a familiar figure appeared out of the crowd beside her, a pair of dark glasses reflecting her own image back at her. 

“Finally deigning to speak to me, Hernan?” She asked, averting her eyes as she waited for her drink.

Hernan Alvarez leaned back against the bar, half facing her, with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I wouldn’t call this a conversation, Detective. I’d call it a warning,” he said.

Misty leaned back in her seat, arching her brow at him. Behind those damn shades it was hard to tell if he was looking at her or at the crowded floor behind. 

“You going to tell me to leave?” She asked.

The tiny smile turned into a smirk.

“Yes, but this isn’t that kind of warning,” he said.

Misty gestured to herself, now irritated.

“Then warn me,” she said.

Shades turned slightly to the side, leaning one arm onto the bar top and lacing his fingers together, appraising her.

“There’s a price on your head tonight,” he said evenly, quiet enough that it was just to her, “your friends have made someone very serious very upset, and they’re looking to prove a point. If I were you, I’d get myself out of sight.”

Misty felt a horrible crawling chill creeping up her back, even in this hot, busy place, but she straightened up.

“And I’m just supposed to believe that?” 

The barman slid her drink down the counter in front of her, but gave one quick look up at Shades before making himself scarce. 

Shades looked impassive, his expression damn near inscrutable behind the glasses. Not for the first time, Misty fought back to urge to just clock him in the face.

Then he reached up, and pulled the shades from his eyes, which Misty knew meant that he was about to get serious.

Even his mannerisms were the most infuriating thing she’d ever encountered in her life.

“You don’t have to,” he said, “but we’re not in the business of offering sanctuary, so whatever you choose to do, you’re not doing it here.”

She glanced past him, up to the big glass window that had once been the office of Cornell Stokes, and now Mariah Dillard.

“We,” she murmured, “you mean _Mariah_ doesn’t want to get her hands dirty. You’re still pretending you two are in this together, Hernan?” 

Shades just gave her a little smirk.

“This has nothing to do with _us_ ,” he said, and she had no idea which ‘us’ he meant.

The problem was, as much as just being near him made her blood boil, and that angry, vengeful part of her grow louder and louder, she’d been chasing this trail long enough to know by now that Hernan Alvarez was many, many, things, but stupid was not one of them. If he lied, he lied by omission.

He replaced his shades, but didn’t move, just watching her. 

So, supposing he was telling the truth, which he probably was, it was almost certainly the very smallest amount of truth he could be telling her.

“Why would you warn me? You could collect that price yourself. Seems to me like if someone wants me dead, that’s just one less problem for you,” she posited, testing him a little.

He tilted his head to one side.

“No. Just swaps one problem for another,” he said, “and I’d rather keep my problems manageable.”

It took all of her willpower not to just slap the shades right off his face, and instead, she took a very deep breath, and stepped off the bar stool. She swiped up her drink, knocked back a swig, and rested the glass back on the bar. 

“You said my ‘friends’,” she fixed him with a look, “plural.”

He watched her, but said nothing for a long moment.

“The warning ends there,” he said eventually, “I’m not that generous.”

She figured. 

She turned to head for the door, but paused, turning her head back to him. She had no intention of thanking him, but was aware that this the kind of gesture that, at some point, was coming back to her.

“Good luck,” he said, snatching up her abandoned drink as she walked away.

She took a breath, and weaved her way out through the crowd, pulling her phone from her bag.

She had several missed calls and at least thirty unread messages. She stood on the sidewalk for a moment, quickly checking through what she’d missed, and let out a quiet “son of a...” under her breath, hating Shades all the more for having been right.

She hailed a taxi quickly, and as she hit dial to call Colleen Wing, directed the driver to take her to the Chikara Dojo.

–

“So you’re going to take your mind off things by deciding who _of us_ could win in a fight?” Claire raised a brow from across the coffee table.

“Trish,” Ward piped in immediately, and sipped his coffee. Trish nudged his shoulder.

“You’re biased,” she said.

He nodded. 

“Well yeah,” he said, “but you’re also a terrifying opponent.” 

Claire gave a little ‘mmm’ of agreement. “If it’s a fistfight,” she said, “it’s coming down to you or Colleen.”

“ _If_ it’s a fistfight,” Trish replied, “if we’ve got weapons that changes things totally.”

“That’s true,” Claire supplied, “I do have claws.”

“You have claws?” Trish blinked, before adding quietly “that’s awesome.”

Claire grinned, her first big smile of the night.

“So, Misty then?” she suggested.

“Ah but Misty’s a cop,” Foggy supplied, “they’ve got this pesky ‘protect and serve’ thing.”

“We’re going to need more context for this hypothetical Battle Royale,” Trish leaned back into Ward, who wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and she reached for her coffee.

“This is a morbid conversation,” Ward said.

“It did distract you for a minute there, though, didn’t it?” Foggy said. 

The four of them had been huddled around the coffee table for about an hour now, each of them doing their level best not to let the conversation roll back round to why, in particular, they were there.

But as the conversation lulled again, it was becoming clear that the big thing they all were pointedly not acknowledging had gone avoided for as long as it could.

“I hate not knowing what’s going on,” Trish said.

Claire sighed.

“Tell me about it,” she ran her finger around the edge of her cup, “I feel like I’ve been benched.”

“I wish I knew what we were dealing with, at least,” Trish said, “Jessica could be … anything could be happening, and we’re just _waiting_.”

Ward squeezed her shoulder a little.

“Well, at least we know Misty’s got Colleen,” he said, “we can keep each other in the loop, even if nobody else does.”

There was a long pause, none of them feeling particularly reassured.

“We could watch a movie?” Foggy suggested suddenly, then looked to Ward, “you’ve got Goonies, right?”

–

Claire and Foggy were on the floor, curled up next to the edge of the sofa, fast asleep. Claire had one arm wrapped lazily about Foggy’s shoulders and his head was nestled into her shoulder, snoring softly.

Claire’s head was resting in turn on Ward’s leg, who was sprawled out across the sofa, completely crashed out. Trish was cradling his head in her lap, one hand idly stroking dark strands of hair out of his face, the other turning her phone over and over on the arm of the sofa.

Trish had been the only one still awake for at least two hours now. They’d done an admirable job, but all the coffee in the world couldn’t stop them from crashing, and Trish hadn’t made much of an effort to stop them. They needed whatever sleep they were going to get.

But Trish hadn’t been able to. It was pushing 4 am, and even though she’d been awake for nearly a full day at this point her mind was still whirring away, completely unable to stop. 

Jessica had said she would call, and Trish was going to be there when she did, whatever else happened. Her phone battery was at 40%. Trish knew, because she’d checked it just a minute ago, along with anything, any messages, any sign from anyone.

Suddenly, her phone was buzzing - an incoming call from Malcolm.

“Malcolm?” She answered quietly, her voice barely above a whisper in the near silence of the penthouse.

On the other end of the line she could hear laboured breathing, and … laughing.

“Trish, hey,” Jessica said, sounding about as casual as was possible, given the circumstances.

Trish sat up immediately, jostling Ward awake as she did so, a huge wave of relief crashing over her, so sudden she almost felt a little sick.

“Jess,” she gave up any pretence of keeping her voice down, “are you- what -” she fumbled, all of the questions she wanted to ask just overlapping in her head. 

Ward was pulling himself up, rubbing his eyes clear of sleep, confused. 

“We did it,” Jessica replied, her voice sounding a little hoarse and strained, but happy – genuinely happy – over the line, “we totally did it.”

Jessica was laughing.

“We saved the fucking day, Trish,” she said.

Trish started laughing too, not even sure what was funny, but so overwhelmed with relief she couldn’t stop herself. 

“Everything’s ok?” She asked.

“Yeah,” Jessica said, “it actually is. I’m… I’m gonna go sit down now. I’ll call you later, promise,” she said, and hung up.

Trish let the phone drop from her hand and turned to Ward, who was looking at her, waiting for an explanation. She grinned at him and he understood immediately why, letting out a little sigh of relief. 

Trish pulled him to her for a deep, hungry kiss. 

“Everything’s ok,” she said between kisses, unable to stop from grinning, “everything’s good.”

–

Claire shuffled into the booth, sliding a bottle of wine over to Karen and Misty, and one between herself and Foggy. Colleen laid her heavily laden tray down carefully onto the table, handing Malcolm and Trish a cup of coffee, and sliding a club soda over to Ward, who looked like he regretted that order immediately.

“Ok, so if you could have one of these supertalents, like our friends, what would it be?” Claire asked as she settled into her seat.

Foggy considered that as he reached for the bottle.

“See that’s tricky,” he said. “Matt has this thing where he can tell whether you’re lying or not, and I always thought _that_ , but lately I’ve been thinking that might actually be the worst possible thing for a lawyer.”

Karen gave an understanding nod.

“Definitely,” she agreed. 

“I mean suddenly you know that your client is guilty or innocent, and it all gets a little..,” Foggy explained, gesturing vaguely into their air, “ethically messy.”

“Not for me, that would just be damn useful,” Misty said, pouring out a glass for herself and Karen. 

“So human lie detector is out,” Claire held her glass out to Foggy expectantly, “but I am completely sure you’ve thought of something else.”

Foggy looked a little pleased with himself, because he had, of course, thought of something.

“I think it would be cool to know where any one, or any thing, was, just, at any time,” he said, then after he’d said it out loud, pulled a face, “but not in a stalker sort of way - in a ‘hey! I know you’re safe’ sort of way.”

“So human GPS?” Ward supplied.

Foggy pointed a finger to him. 

“Exactly!”

“Dreaming big there,” Ward gave him a little sly smile.

“What, you’d go for super strength?” Foggy replied, defiant. 

Ward shook his head.

“Oh no,” he said, “the moment you have one of these superpowers you have to do something with them, and that just… seems like a lot of work.” 

Malcolm laughed.

“Oh yeah, you’ve got to get a costume, come up with a name,” Malcolm added in agreement, teasing, “pick a territory.”

“Hell’s Kitchen,” Karen jumped in, “then you could just take shifts.”

“I always thought Luke’s thing was cool,” Trish piped up, having been in quiet consideration since Claire posed the question. She lent into Ward a little.

“Bulletproof,” she said, “You know, just, walk into any situation and know that nobody can touch you,” she said, adding slightly more quietly, “you can’t get hurt.”

Ward glanced down at her, taking in her expression, and leaned in to plant a small kiss on her hair.

“Unless they have some kind of magic bullet,” Claire said, her tone ever-so-slightly bitter, “at which point you just become a really, really challenging patient.”

“Maybe just being much quicker, then,” Colleen suggested, taking a sip of wine, “not bulletproof, but fast enough you can see every hit coming.”

“That could work,” Trish nodded in agreement.

“Or a danger sense,” Malcolm jumped in, “like an alarm. Incoming punch.” 

“So you’re really not playing, Ward?” Foggy asked, levelling him a look across the table.

Ward thought for a moment.

“I guess, if I was picking anything,” he mulled it over, “mind reading. So you’d know what people are really thinking, not just what they’re saying.”

“Oh yeah,” Karen agreed emphatically, taking a sip, “you could skip all the dancing around and just get the truth. I pick that too.”

“You’d probably go insane in less then a day, though,” Ward added, giving it a little more thought. 

“In your line of work? Definitely,” Trish nudged him, grinning. 

“What about you, Claire?” Foggy asked.

Claire took a big sip of wine. 

“I think maybe just… the ability to not need sleep, ever,” she said, “I’d get so much shit done.”

Foggy laughed. Ward let out an appreciative ‘yes’ across the table.

“Not super healing skills?” Foggy asked.

“Already got those,” Claire replied matter-of-factly, “besides, I’m trying to keep it at least a little realistic here.”

“You know,” Misty considered aloud, “it’s probably good we don’t have any super talents. I don’t think this city needs any more vigilantes.”

There was a pause.

“Nah,” Foggy said, “there’s always room for more. Well, except Hell’s Kitchen – I think they’re good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all, folks! 
> 
> I'm sure I'll find myself revisiting these guys for future stories, maybe even before Defenders, but for now, I wanted to thank you all again for your kind comments and constructive feedback.


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